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Copyright, 1906, by Charles Scribners Sons 
All rights reserved 

Published, October, 1906 

The Trow Press, New York 











HENRY m. King of England 



RICHFORD, son to Pembroke, afterwards Earl 




HUBERT DE BURGH, afterwards Earl of Kent 



GREGORY, a captain 

BALDUR, GODRIC, soldiers 

ORSON, a servant 

GERSA, an officer under De Burgh 




MARGARET, a Scottish princess 

ELEANOR, Countess of Alhemarie, wife of ASbemaris 

GLAIA, ward of De Burgh 

ELDRA, servani to Olaia 

Lords and ladies of the courts bishops, barons, priests, citizens, soldiers, ^, 

Time: ISih Century 
Scene: England 


Scene 1. Room in the earl of Pembroke's casSe. Pern- 
broke in bed. Richford and Albemarle attending. 

' Pern. The king has come ? 

Alb. He waits upon your grace 

As a good servant; with demeanor speaks 
True sorrow you are brought so low. 

Pern. [StouUy] Ha! Low? 

Alb. Sir, but in body. Pembroke's mounting mind 
Can never be struck down. 

Pern. He's sad, you say ? 

Alb. In tears, your* grace, ^e weeps more like a son 
Than sovereign. 

Pern. A son! Where is the son 

Would weep for Pembroke ? 

Rich. Here, my ^puest fatiier! 
Here are the tears would water thy affliction 
Till it be washed from thy endangered body. 
Here is the heart would give its youngpr blood 
To make thine leap with health. Witihlbut you, sir, 
I am no more than %r%he gaudy bloom \ 
Of some stout tree ibe axe has brought t^ ground. 
O, wilt forgive the ?nany pa5ns IVc cost tiee ? 

Pern. First toucKj^my hand and swear hj highest God 
That you will served the king. 

Rich. ^ O, slight condition! 

I take this noble hanothat ne'er w^ms raised 



'Gainst country, throne or God, and by that God, 
I vow to serve the king. 

Pern, For the last time 

111 trust and pardon you. If you make black 
Your soul with violation of this oath, 
I, safe beyond the stars, shall know it not, 
Nor die again to think on 't. Men, weep not 
That ye lack sons, but weep when your wives bear them ! 

Alb, I'll vouch for him, your grace. 

Pern. Thanks, Albemarle. 

Rich, Will you, my kindest father, say a word 
To bring me to the graces of the king? 

Pern, Ay, son. 

Rich, Now, sir? 

Pern, Nay, I'm not dying yet, 

And wish to keep my last words for his ears. 
There's holy magic in the passing tongue 
That stamps its truth unrasurable. So 
Would I grave Henry's heart. 

Rich. But, sir 

Pern. I'll wait 

My hour. Who comes with him? 

Alb. The l^ate, Gualo, 

To-day arrived from Rome. 

Pern. And I not told? 

Already I am dead. These ears, that kings 
Engaged, are now iKmtracted to the worm 
Permits no forfeiture. Well, well, his message? 

Alb. The cardmal assures us that the pope 
Will cast his power with Henry. Though he loves 
This praying Louis, well he knows our right. 

Pern. The pope our Iriend? I thank thee, Heaven! 
England, take up thy heart! Thou yet mayst hope! 
[Enter bishop of Winchester] 

Win. Ciod save great Pembroke! 


Pern. He alone can do it. 

Lord Albemarle, and my new-graced son, 
Will 't please you walk within? 

Alh. We are your servants. 

[Exeunt Richford and Albemarle, left] 

Pern. Now, Winchester? 

Win. You sent for me, your grace. 

I have made haste. 

Pern. Ay, you'd trot fast enough 

To see me die. 

Win, Nay, sir, I hope you've called 
Me to your service. 

Pern. So I have, my lord. 

A task unfinished I must leave to you. 
Here is the key to yonder cabinet. 
Pray you unlock it . . . and take out the packet 
Your eye's now on. 

Win. This, sir? 

Pem. Ay, that is it. 

'Twas Henry Second, graiidsire of this Henry, 
Gave me that packet. Sir, you know the tale 
Of princess Adelais who journeyed here 
As the betrothed of Richard, Henry's son. 
Alack, she never was his bride. Some say 
That Henry loved her ... I know not . . . but she 
Returned to France, her reason wandering. 
" If she recover," said the king to me, 
"Give her this packet; should she die, break seal 
And learn what you shall do." She did not die. 
Nor can I say she lives, so sad her state. 
Her age was bare fifteen wh^ she left England, 
Her face a lily and her eyes a^iood; 
She now must be midway her fifth decade, 
A time, I've heard, when subtle changes work 
Within the mind. A beauteous soul ! O God, 



Restore her now, or lift her e'en to thee! 

. . . Take you the packet, and the king's command. 

But first your oath. Deceit has sapped my faith 

So oft I could believe the devil himself 

Wears gown and mitre. Peter des Roches, will you 

Be true? 

Win. I swear by Heaven. 

Pem. That is done. 

As well as 't can be done. Call in my son 
And Albemarle. 

Win. My lords! 

[Re-enter Richford and Albemarle] 

Pem. Now let us talk 

Of England. O, this fleet, this fleet, rigged out 
By warlike Constance in monk Louis' name! 
I see it nearing now, leaping the waves. 
On, on, and none to meet it! Cowards all. 
What do ye here, ye three, loitering about 
A sick man's bed? A man almost a corpse. 
I would not have a servant waste himself 
To give me drink while England needs his sword. 

Rich. My father lord, we have our men abroad 
Rousing the country for a stout defence. 
To meet the French with our poor ships were madness; 
But let them land well give them such a rap 

Pem. What? Land your enemy? O, fools and cowards! 
. . . I've given my life for England. Now you'll cast 
My heart-dear bargain into Louis' hand 
As 'twere a snood slipped from an easy maid. 
Fool man! to puff his days dfe; jousting Fate, 
Who waits but his bare deatn to start her mock 
Of horrid pleasantries. Then does she make ^ 

Dice of the miser's bones, carousal cups 
Of the ascetic's skull, a hangman's scoff 
Of clerics' prayer-fed sons; and proudest sires» 


Who sentried their blue blood, peer back through dust 

To see all Babylon pour to their line. 

And now shell bid my war-ghost eyes behold 

The land held with my life become a field 

For foes at holiday! 

Win. Compose yourself, your grace. 

Pern. Gualo has come, but where is he will set 
This power its task, and play it for this isle? 
I can not say that wisdom dies with me, 
But I could wish more proof of sager mind 
Than e'er I've had from this small audience. 
Lord Bishop, you are left custodian 
Of Henry's ripening youth. 

Win. Nor shall I fail 

To be your worthy heir in this high duty. 
For still I shall consult with your great spirit, 
Praying your ghost be mover of my deeds. 

Pern. I've spoken to the king. Hell give you love 
For love. But who shall be lord chancellor? 
There's little choice. And yet there's one, De Buigh, 
If camp and field could spare him 

Alb. Sir, a man 

No older than our sons? 

Pern. By your good leave. 
Age is no patent to respect and place 
If virtue go not with it. Whitened hairs 
Make honor radiant, but vice thereby 
Is viler still. Ay, there are some 

Rich. Peace, father. 

And save thy strength for us. 

Pern. ^, son, I've been 

A careless holder all my life, and still 
With my last hour play spendthrift. Well, here be 
Three friends of England — Gualo makes a fourth — 
And trusting you I ease my bones to death. 
[Enter attendant with a letter y which he gives to Pemhroke^ 


Pern, [After reading] De Burgh! O gallant soul! 

Now am I young! 
With forty ships hell meet the fleet of France! 
I live again, for courage is not dead! 
[Sinking] Nay — help — ah, I am gone. Ill hasten on 
And plead in Heaven for his victory. 

[Seems to die] 

Alb. Ah . . . dead? 

Rich. In truth. 

Win. V\\ go and tell the king. 
[Aside, going] My joyful tears he will translate to grief, 
And think I weep a friend's death, not a foe's 
Whose only act of friendship was to die. [Eocit] 

Alb. How now, my lord ? Does your good purpose hold ? 

Rich. It has the falling sickness, Albemarle, 
And now lies low as earth. 

Alh. Tbi^n set thy foot 

Upon it that it rise no more. 

Rich. Tis d(Hie. 

Alh. What fools are they who think that dying mexk 
Speak coracles to pivol action on* 
When death s decay so Murs each fading sense 
They know hut daridy of the world about. 
And of nN^itiet^ all plain to us 
Build visions substanceless to guU our fiiith. 
Grant that they ilo take note of things unseen* 
Tis with their facet;:^ to another worid. 
And what they speak is slrai^ and ill advice 
1\> us wh^v^ work is still \iion^ men of earth. 

i^*A. You uei^ not dear your way to me. I Te nol 
A :^rMp)e in niy soul wooM trip a gnat. 
Sjpe^ out your he«art. 

M^'^ You are ^rretftt IVoatbcoke now. 

But Rik'h&Me^ took an oath to s^srve' tbe kin^. 

KwA. AiBfcd h*^-«s toois. 


Alb. TiU we find hour fit 

To cast his yoke and take a sovereign 
Of our election. 

Rich, Royal Albemarle/ 

Alb, Here stand we then. De Buigh we count as dead. 
Le Moine has orders to strike off his head 
Soon as he's taken. Now we get the king 
To Dover fort, on pretence to defend it. 
There the besi^ng French will take him prisoner, 
And ship him straight to Calais — or to Heaven. 

Pern. [Half rising] Devils! dogs! beasts! 

Now these devoted bones 
Will never lie at peace in English earth. 
My country! Must the foreign foot be set 
Once more upon thy neck, and thine own sons 
Pour sulphur to thy wounds? The king! the king! 
What, vipers, do you hear? Call in the king! 

Alb, We must not, sir. 

Pern, Ho, here! The king! 

[Rises from bed, starts forward and falls back speechless. 
Enter Henry, Ghialo, Winchester, and attendants. 
Albemarle and Richford stand together. Pembroke 
dies pointing to them and gazing at the king] 

Hen. My lords, what does this mean? 

Alb. This noble man 

Wished much to say a word of grace for me 
And his forgiven son. Alas, black death 
Has stolen the balm that might have eased our way 
Into your heart. 

Hen. Fear not, my lords. I'll trust you, 
Even as he wished. [Kneels by bed] 

O, Pembroke, couldst thou leave me? 



Scenes. Before Dover castle. Night. Hubert de Burgh 
walking and listening. 

Huh. But forty ships! But forty slit-sailed drabs 
Of storm and watery danger to meet all France 
Fresh-winged upon the sea! And yet no word 
Nor stir of help. Methinks were I the king. 
Or Pembroke with his power in my mouth. 
Each English road should be ablaze to-night 
With swift flint-striking hoofs. Now to our shore 
Puflfs up the wave may prove oblivion's maw. 
And drink these Dover cliffs as they were sands. 
Yet England sleeps, with one lone heart at watch. 

[Sound of horse approa^ching] Nay, two, for Roland 
[Enter Roland de Bom, dismounted] 

Rd. You, Hubert? 

Hub. Ay. 

You bring no aid? 

Rol. The king is poweriess. 

Pembroke is dead. The barons to covert slink, 
Saying their loyalty binds them to fight 
No farther than the shore. The bishops smirk 
Beneath their mitres, roll their eyes and cry 
" Grod and great Rome, deKver us ! " which means 
Deliver us to Louis, king of monks 
And dariing of the pope. 

Hub. And Albemarie? 

Rol. Stands by the king, and ready with his men 
To meet the foe on land, but not a soul 
Will send to sea. 

Hub. Dissembler! Well he knows 

A victory on the sea means England lost. 
So many traitor hearts will league with France 
And sell their country for one castle more. 


Rd. What now? We've little time. Tis almost day. 
The moon is down, and the raw, rising air 
Sucks in approaching light. What must be done? 

Hvb, The Cinque Ports yield me forty ships. 

With these 
111 meet Le Moine. 

Rd. O, Hubert, Hubert! 

Hub. Ay, 

My men are all aboard and waiting me. 
The garrison I leave to you. Hold it 
For honor and the king, nor yield to save 
So poor a thing as my unlucky head 
Should I go foul at sea. Youll be the first 
The victors will beside. 

Rol. My friend! 

Hvb. Tut, man, 

The sea's a good safe bed. Come in. Some wine 
Will take the night-chill from your blood. In, in! 

[Exeunt. Curtain] 

Scene 3. Within the casUe. Stephen, BcUdur, Godric, and 
other soldiers talking and drinking. 

Ste. [Draining his glass] As good liquor as ever wet 
an oath since Noah was a vintner. 

Bal. Vintner? An you put him in the trade the bishop 
will have you up for it. 

Ste. A groat for your bishop, and that oflf your grandam's 
eyes! I'm no little king Henry pulled to mincemeat by 
his bishops and barons. "Ill take off your mitre," roars 
he to his bishop. " An you take off my mitre, 111 clap on a 
helmet, by the lord," says my bishop. "I'll have your 
castle!" shouts he to his baron. "An you take my castle, 
I'll give you London tower," says master baron. Ay, 
and he would, with the keeper thrown in. 


Bal. And you too, if you bite not a bit from your 

Ste. By the mass, 111 drink the king's ale, and 111 take 
the king's money, but 111 fight for none but Hubert de 

God. And he for the king — so you. 

Ste. I care not how you make it. De Buigh is my 
master. Ill fight for him and with him and after him, 
but 111 wear a red sword for no bishop or baron or little 
king Harry in Christendom! 

Bed. That may be so with more of us than you, but 
stop your mouth with good ale and let words alone. 

Ste. And 111 go with him to the French court and pull 
Louis off the king's stool ! 

Hear, boys, hear! O, hear our captain call! 
Well away, ,boys, away! 
For the love o' the sword and the love o' the money, 

Well on to the wars, my brave fellows all. 

An they take our Jack they will leave our Johnny. 
Away, bojrs, away! 
[Enter Hubert and Roland] 

Hub. What cheer, my men? A fair morning for brave 
hearts. Can you keep this castle for me till I've had a 
bout at sea? 

A soldier. That we can, sir! 

Ste. Ill go with you, sir, by your leave. The castle will 
wait for us, I give you my word, sir. 

Hub. You have seen the bottom of your glass too often 
to-night, Stephen. 

Ste. God bless you, sir, there's where a soldier keeps 
his oath to serve God and his country, and he can't look 
it over too often. Take me wi' you, sir, and 111 prove 
you who lifts his glass the highest will wave his sword the 
longest. [Kneels] I was your father's soldier, sir, and 
hope to die yours. 


Hub. Nay, I must leave trusty souls behind me. Let 
those who love me least fight under my eye, but 111 trust 
my good Stephen around the world. 

Ste. [Rising] Ay, sir! Rain arrows, hail bullets, well 
keep the castle against all weather! 

Hub. [Presenting Roland] Then here's your brave cap- 
tain. Follow him now, and farewell, good fellows — ^fare- 
well, aU! 

[Soldiers start out slowly, following Roland] 

An old soldier. [Turning] But you'll come again, sir? 

Another. Ay, well see you back? 

Another. An you come or come not, I kiss my sword to 
you, Hubert de Burgh, the bravest knight in all England! 

Hub. Why, my hearts, would you start the liquor in 
my eyes? I go where there's brine enough. Twelve 
hours ' sail with f ortime will bring me back — but if I come 
not, remember your king! 

[Exeunt soldiers] 
They know 'tis death — ^they know 'tis death. 

And what 
/Is that? We are all guests in God's great house, ^ 
>The Universe, and Death is but his page 
\To show us to the chamber where we sleep. 
What though the bed be dust, to wake is sure; 
Not birds but angels flutter at the eaves 
And call us, singing. 

[Enter Ckrsa] 
Gersa, what success? 

Ger. The bags are all aboard, sir. 

Hub. And portioned to every vessel? 

Ger. Ay, sir. 

Hub. Well despatched? 

Ger. The men heaved as though the sacks held all the 
pope's treasury and they were to take their pay out of it. 

Hub. Yet they found the contents not so heavy as gold, 
I hope. 


Ger. Nor so light as feathers, sir. 

Hvb. But I pray they'll fly as well, and more to the 
purpose. Aboard with you now. Ill not be long behind 

[EocU Oersci] 
If this, my careful stratagem, should fail» 
Grod help the friendless boy on England's throne! 
Now Pembroke's noble strength must e'en to coffin; 
And Isabel across the sea cares not, 
But happier in a gentler husband's love 
Takes little thought of John of England's heir. 
Who has his father's beauty, not his heart, — 
Just so much of that proud and guilty blood 
As makes him kingly nor corrupts his own. 
. . . But, come, my soul! Prepare thee for a world 
Of rarer breath, lest thou too rudely go 
To th' high conclave of spirits. Father? 
[Enter friar Sebastian] 

Fr. 8eb. Son, 

Art ready for the sacrament? 

Hub. I lack 

A prayer of thine to make me so. Give me 
Such blessing as you 'd lay upon me were 
Death couchant for my heart, and on my brow 
Drop thou the holy unguent that doth fit 
The body for the last touch of the soul. 

Fr. Seb. My love is to thy mortal frailty bound. 
And first 111 bless thee as an earthly father. 
Praying that thou mayst smite thine enemies. 
[Re-enter Roland] 

Rd Your pardon, Hubert. Lady Albemaile 
Is here, and b^s for instant sight of you. 

Hub. My sister? I will see her. 

[Exit Roland] Wait you, father. 
The world must still intrude on Heaven's affairs. 


[Exit friar through large folding doors rear as lady Albe- 
marle enters left] 

La. Alb. Brother! Is Glaia here? 

Hub. She is. But why 

This eagerness? 

La. Alb. My lord says that you go 
To meet the French. Is 't true? 

Hub. In one hour's time 

I count myself at sea. 

La. Alb. Then what — O, where 

Shall I hide Glaia? 

Hub. Hide? Is 't evermore hide 
That spotless maid, bom but to be a star 
To hum£^ eyes? 

La. Alb. Nay, bom to be my shame, 

And constant, killing fear! 

Hub. She will be safe. 
Roland de Bom, who now will guard this castle, 
Holds Glaia as the heart in his own body. 
Ay, she is safe, — ^but if the danger nears. 
She'll be conducted back to Greenot woods 

La. Alb. Roland de Bom? What knows he? 

Hub. Only this, 

That Glaia, weary of skies, rests foot on earth. 

La. Alb. He does not love her, Hubert? Say not that ! 

Hub. Thy daughter is so honored. 

La. Alb. No! 

Huh. She has 

His noble love, and he my happy wish 
That he may make her wife. 

La. Alb. Then thou art false. 

And I look on my grave. 

Hub. What, Eleanor? 

La. Alb. You know my place, and how I queen the 



A virtuous mark that lords point out to wives, 
Bidding them walk as Albemarle's good dame. 
Now let me take my seat on the lowest step, 
And none too humble to mock me going up. 

Hub. What 's this to do with Roland's love for Glaia? 

La. Alb, O, let them scorn! 'Tis nothing! But my 
husband — 
Brother, I never dreamed thy cruelty 
Would give me to his vengeance. 

Hub. Cruelty? 

La. Alb. O, see me at his feet — bleeding and broken 

Hub. Not while I wear a sword ! But how have I 
Disturbed thee? What have said? I've threshed my words. 
But find no devil in them. 

La. Alb. O, this Roland, 

If he wive Glaia must ferret out my shame — 
Pry her life ope — who is she? — whence she came? — 
Till all my secret blushes 'fore his eye. 

Hub. Though he learn all, thy honor in his breast 
Is safe as gem that at earth's centre bums. 

La. Alb. Nay, I'll not live! You know not Albemarle! 
He'll scourge me through the court in rags to match 
My tattered virtue, — then the rack — ^fire — screws — 
The Scotch boot — O, the world 's not dear enough 
To purchase so. I will not live! 

Hub. I swear 

That Roland cares so much for Glaia's birth 
As to be glad she's bom. And at my word 
He will receive hex questionless and dumb. 
Nor ever doubt, or weigh his promised foith. 

La. Alb. Why, is there such a man in all the worid? 

Hub. He sees her as one looks upon a rose. 
And thinks not of the mould that bore it« or what 
The tale that dews and winds could tdl. 

La. Alb. Tis strange. 


Hub. As strange as truth. 

La. Alb. I must — ^I do believe you. 

Hub. And bless his suit? 

La. Alb. Ay, let him wed her straight. 

What waits he for? Let her be lost in him» 
This rare, this unmatched wonder of a man. 
And I will cast this shadow from my life. 
Heave off the weight that seventeen years I Ve borne, 
And walk the lighter, for I've known what 'tis 
To step high 'neath a load. O, let them wed 
As soon as may be, Hubert. Why not now? 

Hub. He waits to win her heart. 

La. Alb. Cares he for that? 

You can conmiand her, Hubert. 

Hub. But will not. 

She is a plant of Nature's tenderest love. 
And must be won to bloom by softest airs. 
Else shall we risk the gentle life and see 
No buds imfold. 

La. Alb. I understand her not. 

Nor try. She is a part of strangest days. 
That Uke to burning dreams bewilder as 
They scar the recollection. She's more kin 
To those strange creatures of the wood that peeped 
About my shelter when she lay a babe 
Than to my blood. Yet she is mine — my daughter. 

Hub. Will you not see her? 

La. Alb. No. 

Hub. You will find her up. 

La. Alb. Why should I see her? Give a stranger's kiss, 
And hear her stiflBy say "Your ladyship"? 
If she would love me! 

Hub. Do not weep. 

La. Alb. You think 

I do not suffer. 


Hub. I've no wish to think so. 

La. Alb. I'm nearly mad at times! But I must go. 

Hvb. [Hesitating] How is — ^the princess? 

La. Alb. Margaret? O, well, 
But every day more full of starts and whims. 
Last night the king was with us 

Hvb. Ah, the king? 

La. Alb. She gave him stinted welcome. Then my 

Came in with news of the advancing fleet. 
And danger to the throne, concluding with 
Your aim to put to sea, and at that point 
She swooned quite prettily and pleased the king. 

Hub. She swooned? 

La. Alb. Most properly, the king being by 

To know it was for him. 

Hub. O — ay, for him! 

La. Alb. Who else? I hope theyll soon be wed. 

Hub. Be wed? 

Henry is young. 

La. Alb. But old enough being king. 
And Albemarle is pressing for the marriage. 
'Tis now ten years since Margaret came from Scotland 
To be his charge. A pretty child — do you 
Remember? But now grown from beauty, pale 
And fanciful. You've seen the change? 

Hub. To me 

She never changes but to show herself 
More beautiful. 

La. Alb. You have not seen it? Pah! 
Now I must go. Good brother, fare you well. 
You've given me comfort. [Kisses him] 

Hub. Farewell, Eleanor. 

[Exit lady Albemarle] 
Art gone, my sister, and no word of love 


For one who looks on death? It is the fear 
That keeps so constant with her makes her hard 
And unlike woman — ^unlike Margaret. 
. . . Last night the king was with her — and she swooned. 
But not for him. By Heaven, 'twas not for him! 
[Sits by iablcy bowing his head upon it] 

Margaret! Not one dear word? Not one? 

[Enter Margaret^ veiled] 

Mar. Ah! [Steps toward him, throwing ofl her veH] 

Hub. [Starting up] Princess! Here? You here? 

Mar. Couldst think I'd let the^ go till I had said 
** Grod save thee" to thy face? 

Hub. You risk too much! 

Mar. Risk, Hubert? 

Hub. O, what have you done? 

Mar. What done? 

Hub. The king will thmk 

Mar. The king will think as I do, 

That 'tis most natural to pay adieu 
To friends. 

Hub. But Albemarle 

Mar. Approves our friendship. 

1 do not understand. 

Hub. Yet you came veiled. 

Mar. 'Twas early — and the air was pricking chill. 
I — ^thought — do you go soon? 

Hub. That you should come! 

Mar. Soon, Hubert? 

Hub. Ay, at once. 

Mar. At once. Why then, 


Hub. Stay! Ah — ^I mean — ^why did you come? 

Mar. My soul! I think I came that you might wish 
Me back again. Was it so wrong of me? 


Are we not friends? And if I came in hope 
To ease adieu with unction of a tear 
I know none else would shed 

Hvb. O, Margaret! 

Pray God that I deserve this! Now I go 
So light 111 hardly need my ship's good wings 
To bear me. 

Mar. The earl doubts not your victory. 
How many ships go with you? 

Hvb. All we have. 

The ports hold not a single vessel from me. 

Mar. And the enemy's? I hope they are enough 
To make your victory noble. 

Hvb. I've no doubt 

They coimt up bravely. 

Mar. Not too many, sir! 

Hvb. The battle will not shame me. 

Mar. But how many? 

Hvb. As yet we have no word but rumor's. 

Mar. Ah! 

Tell me you'll win. 

Hvb. Then help me by not doubting. 

Mar. I must not doubt — ^for if— I did 

Hvb. What then? 

Mar. Nay, 111 not stay to tell you. I must go. 
I keep you from the battle and your fame. 
You have forgiven me my morning ride? 
Faith, but you frowned! 

Hvb. I thought how many eyes 

Were on the king's betrothed. 

Mar. Choose better words, 

My friend. I am not yet the king's betrothed. 
And I — ^had you the time 

Hvb. Nay, all my life 

Is yours. 


Mar. Hear then. I will not wed the king. 

Hvb. A princess can not choose. 

Mar. Then 111 not be 

A princess! 

Hub. Margaret! 

Mar. A princess? Nay, 

111 be no more a woman, if that means 
To cage my soul in circle of a court 
And fawn on turn-key humor for my life! 
Scotland is lost to me. Ill not go there 
To meet my dangerous brother's wrath. No, no! 
But there are forests — I can fly to them, 
And dig my food from Nature's generous earth. 
Thrive on her berries, drink from her clear streams. 
Sleep 'neath the royal coverlet of her leaves, 
And make some honest friends 'mong her kind creatures 
That we call dumb because, forsooth, they speak 
By eye and touch and gibber not as we ! 
... So silent, sir? Come, will you not advise me? . . . 
There was a day before the day of kings 
When maidens looked where'er their hearts had sped 
And foimd them mates who had no need of crowns 
To make them royal, and such a day the world 
May see again, but I, alack, miist breathe 
The present time, and crave the help of state 
And craft and gold to get me married! O, 
The judgment angel gathering up our clay 
Will know this period by its broken hearts! 
. . . Hast not a word? Now should I wed the king? 

HiA. He is a gentle youth, and in your care 
Would blossom brave in virtues. 

Mar. Nay 

Hvb. All hope 

For this poor land lies in your grace. 

Mar. Ah, Hubert, 


Where is there woman strong enough to save 
Fair Henry from his flatterers? Not here. 
Wouldst cast me to the pool where he must drown? 

Hub. Where canst thou hide thy beauty, Margaret? 
This is wild talk of forests. Where couldst flee? 
What land would shelter thee from England's love 
And Scotland's rage? My own — ^my Margaret — 
Where could we go? 

Mar, O, Hubert, we? 

Hub, I'm mad. 

Peace to thee, maiden. I go to my ships. 

Mar, Forgive me! I'll be gone. 
[Re-enter Oersa] 

Hub, What! Not aboard? 

Oer. Your pardon, sir. We have confirmed reports 
The French outnumber us by triple coimt. 
Eighty large ships, the double of our own. 
Besides two score of galleons and small vessels 
That in themselves would match us. And 'tis sure 
Le Moine, the pirate, leads the fleet. 

Hub, Are all 

Now ready? 

Oer. Ay, we wait for you. 

Huh, Grant me 

A bare half hour — ^no — not so much. I shall 
O'ertake you ere you reach your ship. 

[Eocit Oersa. Hubert turns to Margaret and finds that 
she has famted] 

My lady! 
Is this, too, for the king? 

Mar, [Reviving] You shall not go! 

Hub. I must— and now. Let me but press your 

Mar. No, no, my lips! Hubert, let us be true. 
Death watches now and will report all lies 


To Heaven. Now I must see you go from me. 
Out of my eyes as stars go from the sky. 
And never, never see you come again. 
Let me once hear you say you love me, Hubert, 
And all the years that I must weep for thee 
111 keep the words as a sweet golden bell 
To soimd whene'er my ears want music. 

Hvb. Thou art the king's. 

Mar. Nay, I will lay my head 

Upon the block, ere pillow it by his. 

Hub. Then well be mad together, Margaret. 
To go one step in this is to go farthest. 
Ah, yesterday I saw a knight I loved 
Sink in his blood; but when he called the name 
Of his dear bride, and died as it made sweet 
His lips, I thought of you and envied him. 
And now, so soon, his fortune is my own. 
[Calls] Come, father! [To Margaret] Art afraid? 

Mar. Ah, yes, afraid 

That I may lose thee! 

Hub. Is it hell, or Heaven? 

[Re-enter friar Sebastian] 
Good father, when two souls have kissed so close 
They in each other lose the form of self, 
And neither body knows its own again, 
Wouldst join them mortally, that being one 
They can not go amiss? 

Fr. Seb. If they be free. 

My son, to take the vows. 

Hub. Thou knowest us. 

Fr. Seb. I've blessed ye both as children. 

Mar. 1 am free 

By my soul's right, and though a princess bom, 
Here choose my lord. 

Fr. Seb. My daughter, thou art noble, 


Attd mtlflt bfe written fttlf though envy keep 
Tht heftdtoll trf thy fttults, but *ti» poor rank 
Not thee stoops to this choice. 

Mttr. I know it, father. 

Though It shoukl cost my fortune, name and place, 
l*d give them all to be Ills wife one hour. 

/^f". Beb. Thett4 by my sttorcd vows, as I believe 
Lo\^ is frtjm Heaven, and 'tis God liimself 
Who fosters its swn^et growth through all the blood 
Till artlon^ thought, \i^s Hfe, do hang upon it, 
111 bind }'e in the dear eternal Inrnds, 
Ahd bless j-xmr union with Hie holy feast. 
Ct^me in with me. [RriU f^^] 

Unh. [ISmhf'&cinjg her] *Tis HeaviHi, Maiganel! 


Scene 1. Within Dover castle. Same room aainaxsl first 
Enter Olaia followed by Eldra. 

Eld. O, my lady, up all night, and now 'tis barely day 
you must be going ! 

Gla. My good Eldra, you would teach my shadow con- 
stancy, for you follow me without let or leave from the 

Eld. I follow not you but my orders, mistress. Sir 
Roland says that I must not leave you. 

Gla. The gates are all locked. Does he think me a 
bird to fly over the walls? 

Eld. That he does! The bonniest bird that ever sang 
in Greenot woods. Isn't Sir Roland a man, my lady? 

Gla. By his cap and feather, I should not doubt it. 

Eld. But a man you may look at, my lady! 

Gla. Pray God I may, madam, for 'tis sad to be young 
and blind. 

Eld. Ay, but when I look at Sir Roland I could sing 
again the song that got me a husband. 

Gla. What song? I think you got him with your fair 
face and honest mind, and he took the song by way of 
grace with meat. 

Eld. True, mistress, I was a fair, canny lass over the 

Gla. And a fair, canny dame you are now, Eldra. But 
what was the song? 



£U. It was back summat toi jaunts o' the sun from 
T Animas to Lammas. I was standing on the rock hiDs 
over Logan frith wi' the green woods behind me an' 
lookin' out to sea. The waves were runnin' high, and the 
brine in my face gave me such a sjHrit that in a minute 
my bcmnet was off and I was singing at the tc^ oi my 
voice — 

O braw, braw knight, come down the ^oi 

And awa' to kiik wi' me! 
And Heavoi send us seven stout scms 
To %ht for our king cm the sea! 

It's a long baUad, but it's out o' my mind now, and who 
should come up behind me but my man that was to be, 
and ^twas set then and there we must go to the kiik come 
Sunday. Ay, it got me a husband, but never a son, for 
only six months away he was drowned at sea — the very 
sea that I'd sung so brave t-to 

CUa. Donl ciy. He wiD come sailii^ back some day 
with a fortune in his pocket. I donl bdieve he was 

£U. I care not what s in his poc^xt, ma'am, if he 
bring me love in his heart. 

Gla. That he will^ I am sure. IVhere b Orsoo? 

£Zi. Bathing his knees in gooseofl, my Ia€ly. Yoa kqpl 
him at prayers aD night for % Hubert. 

da. Whv, did we not share his watch? 

EUL Yes, mistress* but when yoa fdl adccp we had 
not the heart to wake too. 

Gla. O, ho! I feU a^eep. did I? 

£U. I should hope yoa did. my lady. For my part I 
winked but once* and when I woke up yoa woe 

Gla. Asleep? 

£U. No. but yoa were piayii]^ so cfaqiptf thai I 
yoa were ji^ at it. 


Gla. Oy false woman ! Do you think I could sleep when 
Hubert is on the sea? Call Orson ta me. 

Eld. Orson! Orson! 

[Enter OrsoUy walking stiffly] 

Ola, Why, Orson, you carry as much dignity as a watch- 
man that has just let in a duke. 

Ors. Mock not affliction got in your service, my lady. 

Gla. My service? When did I tell you to sleep all 
night on your knees? 

Ors. Sleep? Sleep, lady? 

Gla. Ay, sleep. You are a knave. Bring me my lute. 

Ors. [Muttering] Sleep! There's thanks for you! 


Eld. Mistress, you must not play your lute here. The 
king's men are not like Sir Hubert's, and your voice will 
quick tell 'em there's a bird in the bower. 

Gla. I am not afraid. What are men but creatures 
like ourselves? 

Eld. Like ourselves? La, my lady! 

Gla. There's no harm in them. You are a foolish 

[Re-enter Orson] 

[Taking lute] Grood Orson, I am sorry if your knees 
are stiff. You may have the unguent that Sir Roland 
brought me from Palestine. Go, Eldra, and get it for 

Eld. [Aside] An I give him not gooseoil with a dash of 
cinnamon, I'm no good servant to my mistress. 

[Exeunt Eldra and Orson] 

Gla. I do not like this castle with Hubert away. Sir 
Roland makes it a prison. If I could get out I should try 
to find my way to Greenot woods. The doves are nesting 
now, and the little brown fawns are specked with snow. 
[Plays IvJte and sings] 


O, lady, let the roses blow 

In thy pale cheeks for this — 
That I may to that garden go 

And pluck them with a kiss. 

My roses are all plucked, she said. 

No more shall ever grow. 
For cold is he and low his head 

Whose dear love made them blow. 

Then lay she down where slept her lord 

Upon the silver heather; 
Then sighed the knight, nor said he word. 

But left the twa together. 

[Enter the king, dressed in black. He gazes at Glaia] 

Gla, What is your name, boy? 

Hen. Henry. 

Gla. Henry? That is the king's name. Are you his 

Hen. I fight for him. 

Gla. Ah, me! 

Hen. Is it not brave to fight? 

Gla. But kings are wicked 

To buy their kingdoms with their subjects' lives. 
Two days ago they brought a noble knight 
Into the castle, bloody and quite dead, 
And when I cried, my Hubert whispered "Hush, 
'Tis for the king." Hubert is now at sea — 
Mayhap this moment dies — and for the king. 
And 'twas last night I heard Sir Roland say 
"Well hold the castle till each man is down," 
All for the king. And now you fight for him. 
I hate the king ! 

Hen. O, do not say that. 


Gla. Why? 

Hen. Because he loves you. 

Gla. He has never seen me. 

You're merry, boy. 

Hen. But good kings love their subjects 

Before they know them. 

Gla. O ! Is Henry good ? 

Hen. He prays to be so. 

Gla. Let him pray, lest he 

Grow old in evil like his father, John. 
Who is your father, Henry? 

Hen. He is dead. 

Gla. Ah! But you have a mother. 

Hen. Far away, 

And one who loves me Uttle. 

Gla. Now ni sigh 

No more for parents, since I know that they 
May die, or prove unkind. I have no kin. 
But Hubert loves me. 

Hen. Lady 

Gla. I am Glaia. 

That is all I know, but Hubert says 
Some day hell tell me more. I do not care. 
I love to be a mystery to myself. 

Hen. [Aside] She's nobly bom, and kept from her 
But how should she be honest Hubert's charge? 

Gla. What say you, Henry? 

Hen. 'Tis so strange to find 

An angel housing in this black-browed castle. 
Converting war's grim seat to paradise. 
Hast always lived here? 

Gla. O, behind these walls? 

No, I've a home deep in the happy forest. 
I do not like this place — ^these huge black rocks 


Piled up so high, with caves i' the ground, and holes 
To shoot out arrows. I walk on tiptoe here. 
Afraid 111 wake the ghosts that sleep i' the comers. 
But in the forest I can shout and run. 
And everything I wake will laugh and sing. 

Hen. Where is this happy place? 

Gla. I can not tell. 

Twas night when we came here, and Hubert says 
That none must know the way. I wonder why. 
Do you live in a castle? 

Hen. When I'm not 

At wars. 

Gla, O me, I would not live in one 
To please 

Hen. The king? 

Ola. No, not to please the king. 

Hen. If he were lonely, Glaia? 

Gla. Lonely? O, 

He is to wed the princess Margaret. 
Are you not glad? He'll not be lonely then. 
She's fair and good, they say. 

Hen. But not as you. 

Her princess feet like well the solid earth. 
She is a flower that sips of sun and dew. 
But feedeth most from root-cups firm in ground; 
While you are made of music, love, and air, — 
A being of the sky — ^a lover's star. 
Although he be a king. The grace of heaven 
About your beauty plays, and drops as soft 
Upon my eyes as light from the lark's wing. 
But I must leave you now. Sweet, take this gift. 

[Gives her his jewelled fett] 
And know my name and place are worthy yours. 
Though you should be a princess, as I think. 
See, here's a jewel in this belt. I dare 


To part with it, though wise men say my life 
Is safe but when I wear it. Tis the stone 
Of Wales, and blessed by magic of the seers 
That in that coimtry dwell. 

Gla. Then keep it. Ay, 

You must. 

Hen, No, no! I have a fear some harm 
Will touch you, me away. Keep you the charm. 
And I will take your lute. Li lonely hours 
111 touch the chords and think thou'rt listening. 


Ola. A lovely boy! O me, these dreadful wars! 
Eldra's a goose to call the king's men rude. 
I wish he had not gone. Ill play again 
And see who 11 come. Ah, now I have no lute. 
No matter, I will sing. 
O, sweet the day and fair the May, 

But Love he laid him down to weep 

[Enter Gregory] 

Greg, A pixy suiel 

Sweet apparition, wilt fly if I approach? 
Then here 111 stand, and from this point remote 
As frosty Hebrid from the golden East, 
Adore thy seeming substance! Ah, no answer? 
Advance then, valiant Gregory, and explore. 
Flesh? 'S light, 'tis flesh! A very woman, too. 
A silent woman. Heavenly miracle ! 
With lips like twin strawberries 'neath one leaf. 
The very manner of them b^s a kiss. 
I' faith, they shaQ not b^. 

Gla, You would not kiss me! 

Greg, You wrong me, duck. Why, I'm a man of mirth. 
A soldier, sweet. And would not kiss? Now, now! 
You take me for a ghost — or starve-bone saint. 


I am not padded — ^I fill out my coat 

And owe but for the cloth. A man, my chick! 

Shalt have a kiss. 

Ola. O, help me, Eldra! Help! 

[Stephen runs m, seizes Gregory and shakes him about] 

Ste. [Pricking him with his sword] Shalt have a kiss, 
he shall! A man, my chick! 
I fill my coat, I do! 

Greg, Hold, sir! I am 

An officer of the king! 

8te. Why then, shalt have 

More kisses! 'S blood! I thought thee but a scrub. 
A king's man, sir, shall have more ceremony. 

[Pricks him around the room. Enter Rcland\ 

Rol, Stephen! Brawling here? You know the orders. 

Ste, Orders, I take it, sir, don't coimt in such a case 

Rol. Your extraordinary cases have become quite usual, 

Ste. Be you the judge, sir. This gay blood here was 
troubling the lady 

Rol. Glaia! Then he dies! [Drawing his sword] 

Ste. Orders, orders, sir! 

Gla. He did not touch me, Roland. 

Rol. Touch thee? If he 

No more than looked at thee death is enough. 
But had he touched thee 

Gla, Art thou cruel, Roland? 

I thought thee gentle. Wouldst thou make me hate thee? 

Rol. You shall not hate me, Glaia. [Sheoi^ies his 
sword] Let him live. 
But take him from my sight. 

[Exeunt Stephen and Gregory] 

Gla. O, Roland, now 

I love thee! 


Rd. Love me, Glaia? 

Ola. Next to Hubert. 

Rol. O, next to Hubert. 

Gla. And the boy. 

Rd. The boy? 

Gla. Henry his name is. Such a pretty youth! 
He gave me this, — and see, this jewel here 
Is all so precious that it guards the life 
Of whoso wears it. He must like me well 
To give it me. Dost think he likes me, Roland? 

Rol. [Aside] O God, the king! . . . Give me the bal- 
dric, Glaia. 
I will return it, for I know the youth. 
In truth, I've seen him wear this very belt. 
TVas wrong to take it, Glaia. He belongs 
So wholly to the king that you can have 
No portion of his love, lest he betray 
Himself and thee. Go, get you ready, child. 
To leave this place. For you 'tis full of dangers. 

Gla. Back to the woods? O happiness! But I — 
Ah, must we go so soon? 

Rd. It was your prayer. 

Gla. But then — ^I had not — strange! Why is it, Roland, 
'Tis not so merry going as I thought? 
Is 't not a httle lonely in the woods? 
And yet it never seemed so. Will you come 
To see me, Roland? 

Rol. Do you want me, Glaia? 

Gla. O, yes, dear Roland! And youll bring the boy? 
I want to ask if he will be my brother. 

Rd. You must not see him. Go and get you ready. 

[Exit Glaia] 
O, wretched me, to love so frail a thing! 
Fragile and pure, thou art not for this world. 
Where the same winds that bring thee breath must blow 


Thy gentle life out. 

[Re-enter the king] 

Sovereign li^e, 
Count it not boldness if I dare to guess 
Your presence here. You come, my lord, to find 
This precious property. [Gives him the belt] 

I know 'tis prized, 
And hold me happy that it met my eye 
Before another's. 

Hen. Grentle Roland, thanks. 

I need not ask if you found aught with this 
More precious still. 

RoL Nothing that majesty 

Might without blushing claim. 

Hen. Thank you again. 

[Aside] IVe found the lover! ... Is there news from 


Rol. Uncertain news, that I was on my way 
To give to you. Report cries victory 
For Hubert, but 'tis chance improbable 
That he should win, so take a breath, your highness. 
Ere you believe. 

Hen. The lords must know of this! 

Rol. Your majesty, I have a suit to thee. 

Hen. A victory! 

Rol. If you do hold him dear 

Who, by report, has won this doubtful battle. 
That saves your kingdom and sets fast your crown, 
I beg you hear me! 

Hen. Speak, but be not slow, 
Good Roland. 

RoL Sire, De Burgh has enemies 

Who seek his downfall, for his honesty 
Stands rock-like 'tween the throne and treachery. 
'Twas they who wrought to send him feebly forth 


'Gainst odds so great they left no chance of life 
Save by Grod's love and favor. If he wins. 
The victor's garland and his king's reward 
Will further urge their hate to villainy. 

Hen. Who are these foes? 

Rol. The earl of Albemarle, 

Pembroke and Winchester. 

Hen. My very staflF ! 

What proof hast thou? 

Rol. I've nothing for your eye. 
But in my heart there is a testament 
That makes me bold to name them. I would risk 
All but my soul to save you such a friend 
And virtuous servant as De Burgh. You may 
Condemn me 

Hen. First, 111 watch these lords. 
But be they false, where, where shall I find friends? 

Rol. TMong those who fight your battles, sire, nor fear 
To die to save a king. 


Hen. [Seating himself in an alcove] 
I see a king 
Must take some thought to keep his crown on *s head. 
[Re-enter Stephen and Eldra] 

Eld. Dear man, you can't deny it! 'Twas you saved 
my mistress. But for my good man drowned at sea I'd 
love you, sweeting. 

Ste. And if you love me it must be by way of kiss and 
part, for my good wife is still in the world, I've reason to 
think, and some day I shall run plumb into her bonny 
white arms. But a kiss, my lass, with a penny to the 
priest, can do a soldier no harm, and you'U always find 
me obliging in everything except matrimony. 

Eld. Out! Away! You old father Longbeard! You 
Johnny Hump-back! 


Ste. Hump! 'Tis the squint in your eye, my dearie! 
I'm as straight as a poplar in the king's court. 

Eld. Squint, sir? May be so, for I'm thinkin' o' my 
braw handsome man, an' 'twould make a straight eye 
squint to see you standin' in his place, it would. 

Ste. An' I'm thinkin' o' my bonny little girl, as plump 
and tender as a partridge at her first nest, and out upon 
you, my fine, fat waddler! 

Eld. An my man were here you'd drop to your fours 
and go like a beast for shame, you would. The prettiest 
figure 'tween here and Jerusalem! He had an arm! He 
could sling a sword! And such a leg! Dick Lion-heart 
never shaped a trimmer stocking. Hair like a raven 
fannin' the wind! An eye like Sallydeen's! For all the 
world a black coal with a fire in the middle. No watery 
peepers like present company's. An his eyes were stars 
in heaven I could point 'em out! 

Ste. O, my sweet wench that's a waitin' for me ! When 
shall I see her comin'with her head up like a highland doe, 
an' cheeks as red as my grandam's nightcap? I think o' 
her now as she stood on the high rocks over Logan's frith 
singin' the song that made the sugar-water start in my 
heart. And straight I must gallop wi' her to the kirk — 
Hey, what's the matter, old lady? 

Eld. Nothin' — ^nothin', sir, — ^just one o' my qualms. 

Ste. Do you have 'em ordinary? A pity now. My 
lass, an she lived a thousand years, would not be qualmsy. 

Eld. [Aside] 'Tis Stephen, my own man! And he 
doesn't know me! O, I am changed from his ain lassie! 
He despises me! Waddler! O! 

Ste. Chirk up, old duck. When I find my lass 

[Re-enter Orson] 

Ors. Mistress Eldra» what do you gabbling here and my 
lady calling you? 

[Exit Eldra with Orsm] 


Ste. Eldra? By Pharo's ghost! Let me see — ^ten 
years. It might be — ^yes — her very complexion — the pert 
eye — ^the Uttle foot — ^the eamiy twitch to her Ups — ^and her 
man drowned at sea. Well, I'm pickled. She has built 
up such a Solomon's glory picture o' me that plain Stephen 
Godfrey will never get another chance. He had an arm! 
Ha! Did I? An eye Uke Sallydeen! A leg like Lion- 
heart! Ha! [Struts up and down] But now I'm father 
Longbeard. Well, 111 shave oflF this weeping willow tree 

[Re-enter Eldra] 

Eld. Good sir, are you here yet? 

Ste. [Aside] Grood sir! Methinks I grow in favor. Ay, 
sweet madam. 

Eld. [Aside] He's lookin' softer now. Well a day, this 
is a world. Here they brought me and the lady Glaia to 
make sure we would be safe, and now they're taking us 
back for the same reason. Ay me, and a lonely, dreary 
place it is we're goin' to, with never a civil gentleman like 
yourself to sit out the night wi' a stoop o' ale an' cakes o' 
my own raisin'. 

Ste. My good madam, if you will give me the tip o' the 
road, m not be a slow traveller when the business of war 
will let an honest soldier course to his liking. 

Eld. O, 'tis secret, sir. My lady is hid away for some 
reason of God or the devil, and I'll not be so false as to 
let a stranger on the track. 

Ste. Am I a stranger, madam? Did not my good arm 
no more than an hour ago procure me warrant for better 
treatment? Come! As you say, there Tl be lonely times, 
and a discreet companion who knows how to keep his 
tongue behind his teeth will not come amiss on a rainy day. 

Eld. [Aside] How can it be harm to tell my own man 
when the good priest said we were one flesh? 'Twill only 
be tellin' my own ears. Well, sir, if youll swear by St. 


Peter's thumb and the crucifix youll never let anybody 

Ste. By St. Peter's thumb and the crucifix — and your 
black eyes, too — ^I swear! 

Eld. Then take the straight road to — O, I'm afraid! 

Ste. Courage, my pretty! There's not a cricket to 
hear you. 

Eld. The straight road to Greenot woods, and two 
miles in the forest where the brook crosses, ride up the 
stream half a mile to a tall red ash standin' alone, and three 
miles by the path to the right brings you to the place you'll 
find me. Now I've done it! No, don't thank me for 
bein' a fool. 

Ste. Nay, a woman, dearie. 

Eld. I must run to my mistress. 

[Exit Eldra, Stephen foUovnng] 
Hen. [Coming forward] Go, Stephen with the Lion's 
leg. You'll haste 
If I be not before you. Am I bound 
To Margaret? By others' mouths, perhaps. 
But certain not at all by oath of mine. 

[Enter friar Sebastian] 
What holy gloom comes here? Friar Sebastian, 
One time the counsellor to Isabel. 
Do you not know me, father? 

Fr. Seb. [Kneeling] Gracious king! 

Hen. Nay, rise and bless me. 

Fr. Seb. Hear, my sovereign. 

This meeting is not chance. I sought thee here 
To tell what palsies me to think on. 

Hen. Speak, 

Then think of it no more. 

Fr. Seb. Tls said De Burgh 

Has gained the victory 'gainst all expectance. 
I know that he was sure he went to death, 


Else had he never put unto his lips 
The rose that bloomed for one so high above him. 
But dreaded death is yet full gracious, sire. 
And sanctions rights too bold for life to claim. 

Hen. Did Hubert wrong me, father? 

Fr. Seb. Alas, my king! 

Hen. Come, drop your burden even to my heart 
That I may know its weight. 

Fr. Seb. Sire, in the hour 

That he spent last on land, I married him 
To a most noble lady. 

Hen. Married ? Ha ! 

Nor asked consent of me? Not one 
" By your good leave, my king "? 

Fr. Seb. If in my words 

So soon you find affront to majesty, 
I dare not tell you more. 

Hen. Nay, 111 forgive him. 

Remembering his service 'twere too stem 
To make contention of his marriage. 

Fr. Seb. Though he should banish all the woes of 
Make sorrow alien, and a tear unknown. 
Yet has he wronged a king. Though happy mothers 
Drop on their knees and let no hour pass by 
Without its prayer for him, still has he wronged 
A king! 

Hen. Wilt never speak because you speak 
So much? 

Fr. Seb. Here let me lie, and pray your grace 
For two long troubled hearts. When I have spoken 
Then set thy foot upon my priestly head. 
But spare them, spare them, sire! 

Hen. Up! Rise, I say. 

From this debasement. We shall take good care 
To shield your holiness. Now speak! 


Fr. Seb. One word 

Will tell you — one. 

Hen. [Taking a sea[\ And how much time will 't take 
To say that word? 

Fr. Seb. It is the name of her 

Whom knightly Hubert made his wife. 

Hen. Is it 

A long name, father? 

Fr. Seb. [On his knees] It is Margaret. 

Hen. [Rising] Of Scotland? 

Fr. Seb. [Covering his head] Ay, my li^e. 

Hen. [Aside] Deliverance! 

Rise, father, rise, and learn that even a king 
Is noble enough to suflFer and forgive. 

Fr. Seb. Have I my ears? Are these your words, my 
Or does some pitying angel alchemize 
Them into sounds more fit to reach my weak 
And trembling age? 

Hen. You hear even as I speak. 

'Tis true that Hubert pitched his love full high. 
Good manners had not o'ershot the royal bow; 
But take my word no harm shall come to him. 

Fr. Seb. He'll need a friend, my liege, for dangers stride 
In wake of this rash marriage. 

Hen. Leave them 

To me. m try my fledgling wit in this. 
Where is the cardinal? 

Fr. Seb. V the western hall. 

Hen. Here come the lords. But first 111 speak with 

[Exeunt Henry and friar SebaMiany left. At righty 
enter Albemarle^ Winchester and Pembroke] 

Pern. [To Albemarle] He has not yet confirmed you 


Alb. No need, so short his reign. 

Win, We should have news. 

By this the battle's done. I wonder now 
How far is Hubert's head on its long journey 
To ocean's bottom? 

Alb. May it please your grace. 

We think 'tis best that you stay with the king. 
If all desert him 'twill look foul in us, 
And it will take an honest English face 
To keep the people with us. 

Win. True, my lord. 

And I will stay with him, for I have gone 
A little deeper in his heart than you. 
And can best turn him to advance our plot. 

Pern. While we ride forth to call men to defence — 
Li truth to give them hand and foot to Louis — 
You wait here with the king 

Win. I understand. 

And you not coming up, perforce be taken. 
Then Henry may lay by his crown, or keep 't 
To please his jailer's peeping manunets, or bribe 
His turnkey for a slug of meat. 

Alb. The jail 

Where he must lie is small and needs no keeper; 
For who go in so well contented are 
They're never known to set foot forth again. 

Win. Must go so far? Well, as you please, my lords. 

[Re-enter Henry, vrith Cardinal Gualo and attendants] 

Alb. God save your majesty! 

Hen. My faithful friends* 

Well met. 

Win. Ah, still in black, my li^e? 

Hen. Why not. 

My lord? When my poor father in the flesh 
Was struck by death they dressed me in this hue; 


And heavier cause have I to wear it now, 
When he who gave my soul its dearest light — 
My father in nobility above 
The blood or happy chance of birth — ^is gone 
To come no more. 

Win. But, good, my liege, am I 

So little worth that with a strange misfit 
I wear his dignity? 

Hen. The worthier 

You are to wear 't you'll teach me to r^ret 
His goodness lost, and be more pleased to see 
How I prize virtue dead, guessing thereby 
How dear is living virtue to my soul. 

Pern. [Aside to Albemarle] Does he suspect? 

Alb. 'Twould trouble us. There are 

Some captains in the fort would make a way 
For his escape. 

Hen. You've had no news, my lords? 

Alb. We yet wait word, but rest you easy, sire. 
Our fleet is safe and proudly bearing home. 

Hen. Your faith is strong. 

Alb. I have no doubt, my lord. 

Hen. Were it not well to take this time to plan 
De Burgh's reward? 

Alb. Ay, 'twere, your majesty. 

Hen. What say you, my lord cardinal? You first. 
How should we grace his triumph? With what honor? 

Ov4do. None is too great. I'd place him next the 
What think your lordships? 

Alb. As yourself, my lord. 

[Aside to Pembroke] Best humor him. 

Gnalo. Then further I may speak. 

The earl of Kent, who lately met his death, 
Has left no heir to his vast lands and name. 


I think that Gk)d did so provide this place 
For honor of De Burgh. And more than this» 
Let him be made the great lord chancellor, 
And chief justiciary of this troubled realm. 

Alb. [Aside to Pembroke] Agree. No matter. Gualo'a 
eye is on us. 

Win. You speak in happy time, lord cardinal. 
And we embrace your meaning heartily. 

Hen. This easy payment of so great a debt 
Inclines me to forget the dangerous way 
De Burgh comes by his honor. We must keep 
That ever in our hearts, my worthy lords. 
Lest we grow jealous of his climbing fortune. 

Alb. I hope we've memories, sire, and honest ones. 

Hen. Well, to forfend the bating of his praise 
In my poor mind. 111 give a lasting proof 
Of how I hold him, and here forfeit right 
To Margaret's hand in favor of De Burgh. 

Alb. My liege! The princess? 

Hen. He is now an eari; 

And if I not complain, should any here? 

Alb. But, sire 

Pern. [Aside to Albemarle] Submit! 'Tis only for an 

Alb. Pardon me that I thought to save you, sire 
From such dear sacrifice. 

Hen. 'Tis fit we make it. 

And ask your fair approval, Albemarle. 

Alb. And here I give it, my too gracious king. 

[To an attendant] Whist! Are the horses saddled? 

Att. Ready, sir. 

[Enter Gregory] 

Hen. Well, captain, well? 

Greg. The princess Margaret 

And lady Albemarle are at the gates. 


Alb, My countess gads for news of her brave brother. 
Hen. A worthy quest. [To Gregory] See them refreshed 
and lodged. 
But bid them keep their chamber for a time. 
[Earit Gregory] 
Alb. [To Pembroke] Where are our messengers? 
Can they be lost? 
Pern. We should have heard by now. There's something 
[Enter an attendant] 
AU. Your majesty, a messenger! 
Hen. From sea? 

[Enter Gersa] 

Ger. The king! Where is the king? 

Alb. Pray use your eyes. 

Get. [Kneeling] Your majesty! 

Hen. Arise. Your message? 

Ger. Sire, 

Hubert de Burgh is at the port. 

Mb. [Aside] How now? 

Ger. With all his ships but five. 

Pern. [To Winchester] But five? What's here? 

Win. A witch i' the pot, your lordships. 

Ger. For those five 

There's fifty of the French gone to the bottom. 
The rest are scattered wide, with crippled sails 
B^ging the winds for mercy. 

Hen. Hark, my lords! 

Divinity is here. [To Gersd] How was this done? 
What know you of the battle? 

Ger. When we met 

The opposing fleet, we crept by swift and silent. 
As to escape the fight. So near we coursed 
We heard the jeers cast on us as we passed. 


Well by, we turned, and with the wind at back, 
Bore down full sail and grappled. 

Hen. Here were men! 

Oer. Then, sire, we cut the lime-sacks on our decks 

Hen. Lime-sacks? 

Crer, Which gave out smarting clouds that rose 

Hen. Now here were fools! 

Ger. Sire, you forget the wind. 

The sweeping breeze took up the stinging Ume, 
Clearing our decks, but wrapping round our foes. 
Blinding all eyes. 

Hen. St. Greorge! 

Ger. 'Twas easy then 

To hook our vessels to the great French ships. 
Cut down their rigging and make way at will 
O'er the wallowing crew. 

Pem. Must we believe this tale? 

Hen. Goes it against your wish? 

Pem. Nay, but 'tis strange. 

Crer. [To Henry] One hundred knights, eight hundred 
Now wait their doom from you. Le Moine was found 
Hid in his ship, and offered mighty sums 
For his vile life, but Fitzroy closed the parley 
By striking off his head. 

Alb. What? Le Moine dead? 

Hen. Why so amazed, my lord of Albemarle? 
Did you not prophesy a victory? 

Alb. True, true, my liege, but this surpasses all 
My hope of it. Call it a miracle. 
Not victory^ 

Gvxdo. Call it whate'er you will. 
The Lord of Hosts was with this noble knight. 

Hen. Not knight, but the right noble earl of Kent, 
And for his life our grand justiciary. 


[To Gersa] Thou art the mavis to a happy dawn. 
Come, sing again. [Talks aside with him] 

Win. [To Albemarle and Pemhroke] Your lordships, do 
you ride? 

Alb. What tone is this? 

Win. A tone you'll tune to, sir. 

Didst think me such a fool to stay and fall 
With Henry into Louis' hands? Nay, I've 
No wish to enter that small cell of earth 
Which needs no turnkey, as you say. 

Alb. What, sir? 

Win. No, by the Lord! At the first casile where 
You planned to stop I had my servants laid 
To take you prisoners. It stirs my blood 
That you should think I came to the bishopric 
By a fool's wit. Now Rome is at my back. 
And Henry king! But I'll make peace with you, 
For I foresee a power in De Burgh 
That warns me not to scorn even traitor strength. 

Alb. Ay, we've no fear you'll let this sudden turn 
Cut oflF our fortimes. 

Hen. Come, my lords. Come, all! 

We'll to the gates to greet the earl of Kent! 

[Exeunt. Curtain] 


Scene 1. Same as in ad second. The king, Pembroke, 
Albemarle, Winchester, and other lords entering. 

Hen. The barons are assembling. On to London, 
And call the council. I will join you there. 
The revenues long promised shall be paid. 
At last I am a king ! Will post, my lords? 
Night shuffles toward the mom. 

Pern. YouTl not forget 

Your barons' suit, my li^e. 

Hen. Bring the petition. 

Ill look at it, and then — ^will what I will. 


Alb. What new-gown cock is this? 

Pem. WiU what I will! 

And post you, sirs! 

Win. The child that hung at knees 

Now stands on the great shoulders of De Burgh, 
And ports himself a giant o'er our heads. 

Pem. Ha, so ! This wedge of love 'twixt you and Henry 
Quite thrusts you out. 

Win. True, sir, but I've in mind 

A plot will reach as high as Kent's new head. 
Which, with your sworn and loyal aid. 111 push 
To fullest stature. 

Pem. You have my oath, my lord. 

Win. And bond more sure — ^your spurring need to prick 
Kent's swelling strength. But you, lord Albemarle — 



The mighty Kent is brother to your wife, 

Which now may count somewhat to lift your fortunes. 

Alb. And when didst see my fortunes lie so low 
As need the hoisting hand of friend or kin? 
Nay, our ambitions swear us enemies! 
I stand as free, my lord, as any here. 

Win. Then hear my plan. You know I cany all 
With the archbishop. 

Pern. True. If Winchester would 

Trust Canterbury to find way. 

Win. Through him 

Well call this council in the name of Rome, 
To kill the canker in the bud of peace 
So lately ventured in the track of war. 
And sound abroad that on this holy day 
All weapons, armor, and gross sign of blood 
Shall be laid by. I will persuade the king 
His dignity is touched to be so quick 
To fill his purse before he says his prayers, 
And that 'tis wise to throw this goodly bait 
To hook the common love. Now to this meeting 
Let every prelate bear most righteous arms. 
And every baron look well to his sword; 
Then when the imsuspecting king appears, 
Close companied no doubt by his new earl. 
That mushroom minion we will dare accuse 
And crop his power as we prize our safety. 

Pern. But will not Kent oppose this swordless worship? 

Win. Nay, he's afflicted with true piety. 
And in the addling flush of high success 
Is mellow with the good love of the world. 
All men are honest now! Trust me, hell bait 
At what his judgment yesterday had scorned. 

Alb. But what have we t* advance with show of light 
Against him? 


Win. Gualo brings the axe — ^although 
He knows it not — ^that shall behead De Burgh. 
Trust me, my lords, and soon you shall know more. 

Alb. Work as you wiU, for while he is in power 
We are but puppets and I dance not well. 

Win. Ill ride with Gualo, and b^in our move. 
Then on to Canterbury. Fare you well, 
Till morning bring our bold designs together. 


Alb. How, Pembroke? Seest the gull in this? 

Pern. It needs 

No second sight, my lord. The barons' arms 
Outnumber all the feeble prelacy. 

Alb. Thinks well stop with Kent when Henry stands 
Defenceless 'fore us? Come! We too must ride. 

Pern. Proud Poitevin ! He plots to lose his head, 
And give this land a king indeed ! 

Alb. My Pembroke! 

[Exeunt. An attendant opens the large doors, rear, lady 
Albemarle and the princess Margaret enter] 

La. Alb. What! no one here? We have not seen a soul 
But the poor fool who brought us food and wine. 
Ill not endure it! Are we prisoners? 
Mewed up these hours, when all about there's stir 
As Fate changed hands and rumbled destiny. 
Such clattering, shifting, revel, and "To horse!" 
And we mope here like toothless dames that long 
Have lost the world! 

Att. Your ladyship, the king 

Will see you here. 

La. Alb. That's better. He shall b^ 

My pardon. [Seats herself] 

Mar. How canst think of things so slight 
When even now your brother may be lost? 


La. Alb. I lose no kingdom with him. That's your 
And, lord, you don't neglect it. 

Mar. \Walking away from her] O, for word ! 
Surely some word has come! 

La. Alb. Would I were home! 

'Twas you, my lady, put this journey on me 
With prating of my duty to my brother. 
But I know why you came. 

Mar. O me, you know? 

La. Alb. That does not mark me wise. A fool might 

Mar. O, I am lost! Dear lady, be my friend! 

La. Alb. Why such a fluttering like a lass in folly? 
The king was here, and 'twas mere wit in you 
To follow after, making me your foil. 

Mar. The king? 

La. Alb. Ay, ay, the king! I understand 

Your cry about my brother. 

Mar. O! 

La. Alb. Why such an "O!" 

As though you'd swallow all the air i' the room 
And kill me with vacuity. 

Mar. Ah, madam! 

La. Alb. Youll not have long to wait. Hell be here 

Mar. O, then you think he's safe? 

La. Alb. I think he's safe? 

Why should he not be safe? 

Mar. Could I believe it! 

La. Alb. His truest lords are with him. Albemarle 
Himself is guard sujBScient. 

Mar. Albemarle? 

He is not with your brother! 

La. Alb. Brother? Pah! 


How you draw off and on, as 'twere a shame 
To love a king! 

Mar. The king? Ah— I 

La. Alb. You ask 

If he is safe, and I say safe enough, 
Then drops the curtain of your modesty. 
And you cry of my brother. Faith, youTl have 
Me set about with this till I believe 
My brother is the king of England! 

Mar. O, 

I'm wretched, wretched! 

La. Alb. Patience ! Hell be here. 
True, 'tis most beggarly of him to lag. 
But do not doubt hell come. 

Mar. He will not come. 

O, never, never, never! 

La. Alb. Foolish lass! 

He can not stay away from you — ^his wife. 
I might as well be out with 't soon as late. 

Mar. O, lady — countess — ^if you e'er had need 
Of gentle friends 

La. Alb. I know not what to do 

With this strange piece of daintiness. Up, mistress! 
How wiU you blush when Henry calls you wife. 
If I, in play, can throw you on your knees? 

Mar. Henry? God pity me! I am so racked! 

La. Alb. TTiou art a fool! Up, girl, there's some one 
If 't be the king! Quick now, and smooth your face. 
If he should wonder at this trace of tears, 
111 tell him why you wept. 

Mar. You could not be 

So cruel! 

La. Alb. Cruel? How? 'Twill please him well 
To hear you wept for him. 


Mar. For him? 

[Enter attendant] 

AU. The king. 

La. Alb. Now> now, be still. He comes. 
[Enter Henry] 

Hen. My duty to 

My fair and honored guests. And my first suit 
Is for your pardon that I come so late; 
My next is stiU for pardon I must haste 
Unto my third, and pray the lady Margaret 
For word with her alone. 

La. Alb. I will withdraw. 

My lord. 

Hen. [To attendants] Attend the countess. 

Mar. O! dear Heaven! 

Hen. Are you at prayers, sweet lady? 

If or. Say I am. 

Can wtHnen pray too much, who need so oft 
The soft protecticm of the holy skies? 

Hen. Have I been slack in care? Ah, Maigarel, 
Lei youth excuse n^ect the past may know. 
Jn future 

Mar. O, thou hast been all I wish! 

Hen. AU? AU, Maigaret? You've been in Ei^and 
T«i years or more, and undersbind, I think. 
Why you, a child, were sont unto our court. 

Jfor. My lord, when peace was made with Scodand's 
I was included in the arfaitiamail, 
Bui am unceitain of the precise tanis^ 
Though I dare think there was no menlioii made 
Of maniage. 

Hem. ThesK was a dowry paid 
To Elfish coffns. 

Jfor. Dowry? Ah, was 1 not 


A dainty serving of too humble pie? 

Mere specious covering for indemnity 

Proud Scotland would not pay by such a name? 

Hen, May be, but 'twas held vdse to joiq the kingdoms 
By current of our blood. 

Mar. True at that time 

'Twas best for England to make closer ties 
Wi' the north, but now is Scotland on her knees. 
And you have naught to fear if you should choose 
To set aside my claim. 

Hen. The people's eyes 

Are on you as their queen. 

Mar. They will approve 

As readily if you make other choice. 

Hen. Then 't seems we both are free to follow love 
In any court we please. 

Mar. In truth, my lord! 

Hen. And you reject me? 

Mar. I am not so bold 

Hen. But, lady, in the world's mouth you wiU be 
My cast oflF love, for who is there so wise 
As to believe you would refuse a king? 

Mar. I care not, sir! What is the world to me? 
O, let it think as 'twill, if only 

Hen. Ah, 

If only you are saved from me? But, madam, 
I can not flip the world away as you. 
It is my field of tourney where I joust 
For fame and tender reputation. 
I must not let men point to you and say 
"See Henry's fool!" You shall be wed at once 
Unto the lord most powerful in England 
Who yet is free. 

Mar. O, sir 

Hen. The eari of Kent. 


Mar. Your majesty, be merciful! 

Hen, I am. 

Mar. My knees were bending to you thankfully. 
But you have changed thdr purpose to a prayer 
For veriest pity. The eari of Kent, my lord? 
An old, fierce man, who scorns the name of love? 

Hen. To you he will be kind. Ill stake my crown. 
Once wed to him you'll thank me for this day. 
And swear youM choose him yours from aQ the worid. 
He*s in the castle now. Ill send him here. 
For I'm in haste to bring the marriage oa. 
Wait here, sweet Margaret. 

[Opm^ doors rear^ and she passes doidy through] 

Mar. Kill me, my lord! 

Hem. Now, by these tears, youTl Kve to Mess me yet. 
Foot fircHn my heart I swear you're better wed 
Than if you chose the king. 

[Closes doors and caBs aUendani] 
Ho, there! 
[EkUt aikndcmi] IH see 
The ear) of Kent. Bid Mm come in. 

[EjcH aUendani] Tls cmd. 
But r^ht they should be punished who fotgot 
A king to please themsehres. 

[Enkr Hubert] 

J7ii&. Your majesty! 

Hen. How now, my ^laneeQor? Methinks thb day 
Should mark the h%h note of thy smging heart. 
Bat thoQ art gloomy^ as we^hing stiD thy chance 
Against the fiocking Fresdh. Canst not be nmij 
H HeniT bKk thee. Hubeit? 

Hutk. Ah^ my lofd. 

I fitOe thought to hsTe escaped the foe. 

H^n^ Is that to griere oq. man? B>t Kaxei^ FB ttmk 
It woold haiTe pEesised yoa better U> haiTe sunk 


My fleet and not the enemy's. Come, come! 
What think you of the fortmie we've assigned you? 
Art satisfied? 

Hub. O, 'tis not to be borne! 

Hen. V faith, thou 'rt plain. 

Hub. O, dear my liege, I mean 

Hen. Well, sir, I have another blessing for thee 
May prove more welcome. How wouldst like a wife 
Of royal blood? I wiU not tell her name. 
But take my word that were my heart not bound 
I'd look her way for fetters. She is fair. 
Ay, perfect as the lily plucked to grace 
A Lord's day altar, yet is proud enough 
To hold your new-dropped dignities above 
The mire and brambles of the conmion way; 
And all this, sir, shall be your wedded wife. 

Hub. My lord 

Hen. Nay, do not thank me. Ah, at last 
I've touched the key of gratitude. Indeed^ 
My Hubert, you are pale with this new joy. 
I almost fear to tell you she is there — 
Within that room — ^and waiting your approach. 

Hub. My royal lord — ^I beg 

Hen. No, not a word 

Of thanks. 

Hub. Not thanks! There's something else to say! 

Hen. What, sir? Wouldst still play hang-lip at thy 

Hub. Hear me, your majesty! 

Hen. Nay, I will speak. 

Sir, I have done what monarchs seldom do. 
Proclaimed my general worthy of his hire. 
And paid it, too, and these sour looks from you 
Are as the poisonous leaves in a fair garland 
Marking it for decay. I've yielded much 


Unto your noUe merit, but no more 
W3I yield to your proud humor! 

Hub. Hear, my lord 

Hen, No words! Th^e is the door. Gro in and find 
The lady that must be your wife, or down 
Come all your brave new honors to the ground! 

[Opens door and farces him through. Margaret is lying 
an the floor, her face hidden] 

Hub. O, Heaven! TIs Maigaiet! 

Mar. O! [Leaps up, gazes at Hubert and runs to 
his arms] Hubert, Hubert ! 

[The king doses the doors upon them] 

Hen. The midnight's past. I must away to (^aia. 
And by the sunrise at her window sing. 
My lords aie set toward Lmidcxi. Ncxie shall know. 
Save Cnfid*3 sdf, how far I ride to-nighL 



Scene 1. Near the cottage in Greenot woods. Henrys 
with Ivte, singing. 

Ope, throw ope thy bower door. 

And come thou forth, my sweet! 
Tis mom, the watch of love is o'er. 

And mating hearts should meet. 
The stars have fled and left their grace 
In every blossom's lifted face, 
And gentle shadows fleck the light 
With tender memories of the night. 
Sweet, there's a door to every shrine; 
Wilt thou, as morning, open thine? 
Hark! now the lark has met the clouds. 

And rains his sheer melodious flood; 
The green earth casts her mystic shrouds 

To meet the flaming god! 
Alas, for me there is no dawn 
If Glaia come not with the sun. 

[Enter Glaia, The king kneels cw she approa^ches] 
Gla, 'Tis you! 

Hen, [Leaping up] TsLTdonedl Queen of this bowerland. 
Your glad eyes tell me that I have not sinned. 

Gla. How cam'st thou here? Now who plays Hubert 
Nay, I'm too glad thou 'rt come to question so, 
'Tis easy to forgive the treachery 
That opes our gates to angels. 



Hen. O, I'm loved? 

Ola. Yes, Henry. All the mom I've thought of you, 
And I rose early, for I love to say 
Grood-by to my dear stars; they seem so wan 
And loath to go away, as though they know 
The fickle world is thinking of the sun. 
And all their gentle service of the night 
Is quite forgot. 

Hen. And what didst think of me? 

Gla. That could you come and see this beauteous wood. 
Fair with Spring's love and morning's kiss of grace. 
You'd be content to live awhile with me. 
Leave war's red step to follow living May 
Passing to pour her veins' inmiortal flood 
To each decaying root; and rest by springs 
Where waters run to sounds less rude than song. 
And hiding sibyls stir sweet prophecies. 

Hen. The only springs I seek are in your eyes 
That nourish all the desert of myself. 
Drop here, O, Glaia, thy transforming dews. 
And start fair summer in this waste of me! 

Gla. Poor Henry! What dost know of me to love? 

Hen. See yon light cloud half-kirtled with faint rose? 
What do I know of it but that 'tis fair? 
And yet I dream 'twas bom of flower dews 
And goes to some sweet country of the sky. 
So cloud-like dost thou move before my love. 
From beauty coming that I may not see. 
To beauty going that I can but dream. 
O, love me, Glaia ! Give to me this hand. 
This miracle of warm, unmelting snow. 
This lily bit of thee that in my clasp 
Lies like a dove in all too rude a cote — 
Wee heaven-cloud to drop on monarch brows 
And smooth the ridgy traces of a crown! 


Rich me with this, and 111 not fear to dare 
The darkest shadow of defeat that broods 
O'er sceptres and unfriended kings. 

Ola. Why talk 

Of crowns and kings? This is our home, dear Henry. 
For if you love me you will stay with me. 

Hen. Ah, blest to be here, and from morning's top 
Review the sunny graces of the world, 
Plucking the smilingest to dearer love. 
Until the heart becomes the root and spring 
Of hopes as natural and as simply sweet 
As these bright children of the wedded sun 
And dewy earth! 

Gla. I knew you'd stay, my brother! 

You 11 live with me! 

Hen. But there's a world not this, 
O'er-roofed and fretted by ambition's arch. 
Whose sun is power and whose rains are blood. 
Whose iris bow is the small golden hoop 
That rims the forehead of a king, — ^a world 
Where trampling armies and sedition's march 
Cut oflF the flowers of descanting love 
Ere they may sing their perfect word to man. 
And the rank weeds of envies, jealousies. 
Push up each night from day's hot-beaten paths 

Gla. O, do not tell me, do not think of it ! 

Hen. I must. There is my world, and there my life 
Must grow to gracious end, if so it can. 
If thou wouldst come, my living periapt. 
With virtue's gentle legend overwrit, 
I should not fail, nor would this flower cheek. 
Pure hly cloister of a praying rose. 
E'er know the stain of one despoiling tear 
Shed for me graceless. Will you come, my Glaia? 

Ola. Into that world? No, thou shalt stay with me. 


Here you shall be a king, not serve one. Ah, 

The whispering winds do never counsel false» 

And senatorial trees droop not their state 

To tribe and treachery. Nature's self shall be 

Your minister, the seasons your envoys 

And high ambassadors, bearing from His court 

The mortal olive of immortal love. 

Hen, To man my life belongs. Hope not, dear Glaia, 
To bind me here; and if you love me true, 
You will not ask me where I go or stay. 
But that your feet may stay or go with mine. 
Let not a nay unsweet those tender lips 
That all their life have ripened for this kiss. 

[Kisses her] 
O ruby purities! I would not give 
Their chaste extravagance for fruits Iran 
Stored with the honey of a thousand suns 
Through the slow measure of as many years! 

Ola. Do brothers talk like that? 

Hen. I think not, sweet. 

Gla. But you will be my brother? 

Hen. We shall see. 

Gla. And you will stay with me? No? Ah, I fear 
All that you love in me is bom of these 
Wild innocences that I live among. 
And far from here, all such sweet value lost, 
111 be as others are in your mad world. 
Or wither mortally, even as the sprig 
A moment gone so pertly trimmed this bough. 
Let us stay here, my Henry. We shall be 
Dear playmates ever, never growing old,— 
Or if we do 'twill be at such a pace 
Time will grow weary chiding, leaving us 
To come at will. 

Hen. No, Glaia. Even now 


I must be gone. I came for this — ^to say 
I'd come again, and bid you watch for me. 
A tear? O, love! One moment, then away! 

[Exeunt. Curtain] 

Scene 2. A street in London. Citizens^ friars, priests, 
pass in devout manner, some bearing crucifixes. 

First Cii. A day, a day, O, such a day! 

Second Cit, 'Twill make a new page in our chronicles, 
the like ne'er read before. 

Third Cit. Nay, when Saxon Edward came back from 
conquered Wales 

Fourth Cit. Ay, 'twas such a day of holy joy! 

Second Cit. But not so general. 

First Cit. And guards with arms kept order in the 

Third Cit. But now there's no authority abroad save 
that comes from our hearts. Surely the air is chaiged 
with drug of peace, and all men breathe it. 

First Cii. Where meets the council? In the Tower 

Third Cit. Nay, at Westminster palace. 

Second Cit. That's three miles. 

We must push on if we would see them enter. 

{They move off] 

First Friar. How meanly does it speak for this proud 
That when the devil lays his weapons by 
And peace and love for one day reign o'er all> 
That it should wonder at itself, and cry 
'* A miracle!" 

Second Friar. In holy Edward's time, 

The nuns of Beda joined the council in 


Concerted praise, for 'twas their prayerful fast 
Kept Heaven with the king and gave us Wales; 
And 'twas decreed that ever on such days 
The nuns from this most blest and ancient abbey 
Should with the great assembly kneel in praise. 

First Friar. And so they do this day. The l^ate, 

Sent invitation from the king. 

Second Friar, The king? 

This shows most well in him. 

First Friar. If we haste on. 

Well see the sisters passing toward the palace. 

Second Friar. Let 's forward then. Grod save so good 
a king! 

[Exeunt. Curtain] 

Scene 3. The great hall in Westminster. Barons and 
prelates assembled. Rich surcoats open^ revealing arms. 
Enter Henry and the earl of Kent. 

Hen. My lords, is this the faith you keep with kings? 
Then Heaven save me from it! Was 't not your will 
This day all arms should hang upon the wall? 
Yet you come here as though the trump had called 
To sudden battle. 

Canterbury. Hear, your majesty. 
The cause for which we laid fipon our souls 
This seeming perjury, and youll forgive 
As Heaven, calling it no stain. 

Hen. Sir, let 

The movers of this saintly shift speak first. 
You, Winchester? You, Albemarle? Canst preach 
The lie away? 

Alb. My honored liege, these swords. 


Surer than bended knees, bespeak your safety. 

Knowing that treachery oft defames the ranks 

Of those who shine as the highpriests of Grod, 

I and my brother barons came thus armed. 

Thinking it better so to break our oaths 

Than that false hands should break your kingly staflF. 

Hen. For my protection then you do ofiFend? 

Alb. For that alone, my liege, we wear this armor. 

Hen. And you, lord bishop, guardian of our person 
By prayer and Heavenly counsel, — ^who even in war 
Should wear no sword but that of righteousness, — 
Confess you with these warlike blades thy Lord 
Unable to defend his own? 

Win. My liege, 

'Tis in His name, to work His equal justice. 
We bear these weapons, sacred by our cause. 
[Enter Gvxdo] 

Gua. Your majesty, the nuns of Beda's abbey 
Would enter now. 

Cant. The nuns? What do they here? 

Hen. You know, your grace, since blessed Edward's time 
T has been their privilege on days of prayer 
To join their voices with the court and state. 

Ccmt. A privilege, but never yet in practice. 

Hen. The more is England's shame that has not seen 
For so long past a day of general prayer 
And utter peace. Not in our time, nor John's, 
Nor Richard's 'fore him, nay, nor greater Henry's, 
Might Beda's sisters claim this privilege. 
Lord Cardinal, bid them in. [Exit Gvxdd\ 

Alb. Nay, nay, my liege. 

This is no place for women. 

Hen. Are they not 

Forever foremost in both prayer and peace? 
By Heaven's King, they've more right here than we! 


[Enter nuns, led by the abbesSy who kneels before the 

Hen. Rise, holy abbess. 

-466. Sovereign of England, 

May Heaven's Sovereign protect thy youth! 
And as thy hand is on thy sceptre laid 
Feel there the Hand invisible from whence 
Thy power comes, and know thy way as His. 

[Henry bows his head. The abbess and nuns pass 
to a station apart and kneel] 

Hen. Say on, lord bishop. Let us hear how priests 
May break an oath and Heaven smile upon it. 

Win These papers, dearest Kege, are warrant for us. 
There is one here so steeped in guilt, the pope 
Commands his sentence by our Spiritual Court; 
And knowing crime so deep makes fierce defence. 
We came thus armed. 

Hen. Who of my subjects is so basely given 
The pope must urge the sword of justice 'gainst him? 

Win. He is so high in your esteem, my liege 

Hen. Now were he next ourself, our very love, 
Excepting one, the noble earl of Kent, 
Whom only calumny dare censure, we 
Should yield him to thee. 

Win. So? Then we did well 

To wear these arms, for 'tis no less than Kent 
Whom we accuse. 

Hen. Kent? Ha! We'll hear your tale 

That we may laugh at it. 

Win. You 11 sooner weep, 

I fear. The princess Adelais, of France, 
Is free of the infliction that impaired 
Her noble mind, and through the pope makes suit 
For the recovery of a son — her child 
And the great Henry's. Gualo brings this letter. 


Beneath the pope's own seal, to England's primate, 

His grace of Canterbury. It is signed 

By Greoffrey de Burgh, the father of your Kent, 

And written five years back to Adelais, 

In care of 's Holiness, with the request 

That it be given her should she recover. 

The purport is — ^her child has lived to be 

A grace to manhood, but that he himself 

Approaches death, and from his worthy son, 

Hubert de Burgh, she may in proper time 

Learn all a mother's heart lyould know. 

Hen. Well plotted! 

Win. And here's another paper that great Pembroke, 
Dying, laid in my hands. It bears the seal 
Of Henry Second, and tells how his son 
And Adelais' is given to the charge 
Of GeoflFrey de Burgh, lord keeper of the Tower 
And Dover Castle. 

Hen. Keep your paper, sir! 

Dost think that I'll believe these parchment tales 
Of one whose stainless past the world may read? 

Win. That precious past, sire, is the bed whereon 
This deed's embossed. All he has done that's noble 
Now serves to make this foul. Look at him now! 
He has no word, but stands as one made stiff 
By sin's confrontment. 

Hen. Rather like the god 

Was caught 'twixt the burning and the frozen worlds. 
For so my too-warm love and your deep hate 
Engulf him. 

Win. Hear the end, my li^e. 

Hen. Go on, 

If there's an end. 

Win. This says that Henry's son. 

Arrived at thirty years, shall take his place 


^Mong En^ish noUes as the Duke of Bedf<»d, 
And hold in fief fiye castles, herein named 
Roddngham, Haile, Beham and Fothenngay, 
With strongest Bedford as his ducal seat; 
But if the child should cfie, his great estate 
Shall to the church, and in the church's name 
I call De Burgh to show the heir, or proTC 
That he is dead and by no hidden means. 

Kent. The devfl, sir, must pay you bounteous hire^ 
You sweat so in his service. Naught I know 
Of ghostty Bedford, or ever heard of him. 
Or that my father held a ward in charge. 

Hen. We know you iimocent. 

Win. Tien let him prove 

ffis claim to these five castles. Two he hsAds, 
And three were given in dowry with his sister 
When she became the wife of Albemarle. 
These must he yidd, or show that Bedford lives. 
Else will the church by force possess its own. 

Alb. Mad Winchester! You plot too heavy here. 
You know there are no stronger forts in England 
Than these three castles that the countess brought me. 
And you'd command th^ strength in vtrars against 
The power of the barons! Yidd these forts? 
Not while I've breath to fight for what's my own! 
Geoffrey de Biugh recdved them from great Henry 
For secret, valiant service, such as knights 
Have rarely given kings. Talk you of force? 
My sword shall answer you. I will not yidd. 
And here declare a war! What say you, barons? 

Pern. Your cause is ours, and here we draw our swords! 

Alb. You hear, lord bishop. Moreover we must take 
The person of the king, nor longer risk 
His majesty with traitors. Come, my lic^ 

Cant. What! Take the king? 


Alb. Ay, take the king! 

Win. While grace 

In Heaven lives, we'll keep him from your clutch 1 

Alb. While we are barons and can lift a sword. 
We will defy you and protect the king! 

Hen. I am a monarch, and will go or stay 
As I do please. Lord barons, not with you. 

Pern. Ah, must we force you, sir? 

Win. Not from our hands! 

Alb. An you do stir, my lOrd of Winchester, 
Well wash these floors with blood! 

Cant. The king is ours! 

Alb. Swords write our title! Strike, my friends! 

Hen. God, no! 

Win. Stay, Albemarle! We do not well to waste 
The life of England. If we yield the king. 
Will you give up the castles? 

Pern. [To Albemarle] Say you wiD. 
The king once ours well keep the castles, too. 

Alb. [To Winchester] Then rest it there. Give us the 
king, and take 
The castles. [Aside] If you can. Ay, there 11 be wars 
Will make each stone of England mine. The rocks 
And cliffs 111 mark with name of Albemarle! 

Win. [To Henry] Think not I risk your dear and 
royal life. 
Ill call out troops till trees do seem to walk 
And cry for God and Henry! [To barons] To your care 
We yield the king. 

Pern. Then, Henry, come with us. 

Hen. Plain Henry, now thy crown is gilt 

Pern. Well put 

No pressure on your liberty save that 
We must t' enforce our charter rights. 

Win. De Burgh 


Must to the Tower, theie to await our judgment. 
Lords Gdly and De Yere, conduct him thither. 

Goly. Come, sir. You will not moTe? 

Kent. Oy Maigaiet, 

Your love divined too wdl! Now tor the sword 
You bade me bring, and he iriio first should lay 
A hand upon me 

De Vere. Come! 

Pem. [To the ting] And you with us. 

Kent. Hark, lamb, the wdlves are at thee! 

Goly. Must we move you? 

Abb. [Coming daum] Off with your hands, in warrior 
Michael's name! 
Touch not De Burgh! And you — lord barons — you 
Who blow the gentle fires of this new peace 
With wind of your hot tempers — free the king. 
And wait as fathers on his tender years! 

Alb. I said, my lords, we should have prating here. 

Abb. The midnight vision and long hours of prayer 
Give us strange powers, and we see thoughts bum 
In your intent would strike th^ fire against 
The stars of war and light disaster o'er 
A shuddering woild. But you 

^126. Back to your beads! 

Abb. Well count our beads in your fast drc^pingUood! 
Wouldst try our swords and see if they be keen? 
And if you scorn mine in a woman's hand. 
Here is the hand shall bear it to your woe. 

[Takes sword from under her doak and gives U to 
Kent. AM the nuns rise^ drop their cloaks and 
show themselves to be armed men. The abbess 
throws off her hood and stands revealed as Mar- 

Hen. My guards! 

Kent. My sddien! 


Mar. Kent will not to Tower 

While Margaret of Scotland is his wife. 

Cant, Princess, the day is yours, and I, for one, 
Thank Heaven 'tis so. 

Win. And I. 

Mar. Contentious lords, 

Forget one hour that ye are baron-peers. 
And churchmen clambering to the pinnacle 
Topped with a cardinal's cap. Think ye are men 
Of England, whose dear duty is to her, 
And swear ye brothers as ye are her sons. 
Down on your knees! Ask pardon of your king! 

Win. [Kneeling] O, sovereign liege, in all I said and did 
My conscience led me and my God did counsel. 
If 'tis a sin to seek the punishment 
Of one whom we believe has wronged your blood. 
Then have we sinned indeed. 

Hen. Wilt swear to drop 

This charge 'gainst noble Kent, whose honest soul 
Will cloak such guilt when north winds blow their frost 
From bosom of the sun? 

Win. I swear, my lord. 

That your own lips shall be the first to make 
Renewal of this charge. 

Hen. Rise, Winchester. 

You are forgiven, but not yet may take 
Your old place in our heart. 

[Albemarle and Pembroke kneel] 

Alb. Were thoughts of men 

Writ on the heart's red walls, this sword, my liege. 
Should open mine that you might read me clear 
Of all intent save truest care for thee. 

Pem. And I, my king, sought but the good of England 
In all too harshly crying for the rights 
Of your long loyal barons. 

Hen. Rise, my lords. 


We hold you not attainted, but awhile 

Must look with careful coldness on your love, 

Till by your hves we test this swift repentance. 

Alb. O sovereign merciful, we ask no more 
Than thus to prove us true. 

Hen. Now let this day 

Be given as we intended, to His praise 
Whose eye doth search the closet of the dark 
As freely as the dayplains of the sun. 
And reads the minds of men where kings must trust. 




HENRY m. King cf England 







COUNT DE ROLILLET, attending Addau 


ORSON, a Bmxad to Glaia 

ADELAIS, a princess of France 
MARGARET, wife of Kent 
ELEANOR, wife of Albemade 
GLAIA, ward <4 Kent 
ELDRA, servant to GUna 

lords and ladies of the court, borons, prdates, guards, attendants, dx. 

Time: l^th Century 
Scene: England 

ACT 1 

Scene 1. Atdumn in Greenot woods near 0laia*8 cottage. 
TaUey seats, mugs and ale. Enter EJdra with a plate 
of cakes. 

Eld. [Putting jdate on table] It's the very day and hour 
hell be coming, and he's not the man to count leaves by 
the roadside. He likes my cookin', as I've had proof, 
and he looks so cunnin' at me lately I could swear he was 
fallin' in love all over again. And I'm picking up my 
looks, I must say. Ay, there's nothin' like a soft tongue 
for keepin' a woman young. I feel 'most like a lassie, 
though he did say some words at first that made my heart 
sore, not knowing me after ten years away. And he's 
that handsome yet, — since he's shaved off the beard that 
got so between us I didn't know my own good man that 
married me in Dummerlie kirk on as sweet a Sunday 
mom as you ever see, and the priest in a new frock from 
Wappington, as the housekeeper told me herself — La, I 
forgot my lady! 

[Runs ovJt. Stephen steps from behind a shruh] 

Ste. So, mistress, you've known me all the time, have 
you? And me playin' the fool courtin' my own wife that 
was ready to jump into my arms at the drop o' a hat! 
But 111 play you a game, my lady! 
[Re-enter Eldra] 

Eld. O, Mr. Stephen! 



Ste. Ho, Madam Prune-face! A sweet momin', now 
ain't it, but a bit briskish as suits the season. 

Eld. Prune-face ! By my lady's glass, I've not a wrinkle 
yet as big as the hair on a bat's wing! Plague take the 
eyes o' him that says it as shouldn't! 

Ste. Well, well, I meant no harm, but mickle it takes to 
pinch a bruise. I brought a message to your lady from 
Sir Roland 

Eld. Sir Roland? He's a lord now- 

Ste. Ay, 'tween the king and Hubert they've made him 
a lord. 

Eld. Hubert! You mean his grace, the earl of Kent? 

Ste. He's still my friend, Meggy. The earldom is noth- 
ing between Hubert and old friends. And I'm a-climbing 
too. I've had an advancement, which I don't mind telling 
you about, but I'll have a bit o' your brew first and a 
dozen or so o' them cakes, seein' you took the trouble. I 
could never disappoint a woman as had put herself out 
for me. [Sits at table] 

Eld. [Pouring ale] It has been a long stretch since you 
were this way, sir. 

Ste. Eh? Has it? Well, I don't wonder you think so 
in this sort o' a place. Not much goin' or comin' round 
here! But time don't hang wi' Stephen. There's ridin' 
and fightin' an' the lassies to comfort 

Eld. I thought you were honest. You've bragged 

Ste. As honest as a soldier, my dear, — and that ought 
to content any woman. [Eldra sits at table] Yes, sit if 
you like. I'm not overproud, though your place is behind 
a man o' my rank when he's at table. I know I've eaten 
wi' you and drunk wi' you, but I've had an advancement, 
Meggy, I've had an advancement. [TaJces sip of ale 
and puis it down] Costmary! Well, let 'em as likes it 
drink it. 


Eld. Tis nice and balsamy. I thought you'd like it, 
and saved it o' purpose. 

Ste. Dose me wi' tansy and be done! 

[Eldra turns her head to vripe away a tear and Stephen 
gulps the aie] 

Ste. [Bites a cake and jnUs it down] Poh! 

Eld. Don't you like it? 

Ste. If I don't mind a lie for manners' sake, I do, but if 
I've more respect for truth than manners, I don't. Ain't 
your hand a little out? 

Eld. I thought they were extra nice, sir. I'm sure they 
rose like feathers. 

Ste. And may blow away for me! But come, don't 
hang your head, Meggy. You're too old for that. 

Eld. My name is Eldra, sir. 

Ste. I know, I know, but I told you that was the name 
o' my dear lass that's dead and gone 

Eld. Dead and gone? 

Ste. That's what I said. If she ain't dead, she's where 
I can't get her, which is all the same to a soldier, so I've 
about made up my mind to give over lookin' for her. 
Lord, don't cry, little chicken! You are a soft one. 
Cryin' to think I've lost such a jewel o' a lass, but I'll tell 
you something to make you think better of it. There 
is somebody up in old Scotland that I think I'll fetch 
down for the comfort o' Stephen — as bonny a woman 
as a man need want, wi' enough siller laid up from 
her old daddy to make a soldier a gentleman. Lizzie o' 

Eld. Oh-h! 

Ste. The qualms again? Now devil take a woman as 
gets queasy just when a man wants to be friendly and talk 
things over. 

Eld. [Aside] Liz o' Logan! My cousin as was always 
jealous and wanted my Stephen ! 


8te. Hey, Meggy! [She runs otU, left] Ha, ha, ha! 
Poor little woman! I'm a villain. I'm twenty villains. 
[Eldra steals back unseen and hears him] To treat my 
bonny sweet wife so! The cunningest darling that ever 
said yes to a soldier! Ill make it all right when she 
comes back, and won't there be a smackin' o' lips! [Eldra 
makes signs of joy and revenge and disappears] Where 
has she gone? Run oflf to cry her sweet eyes out, I'll 
warrant! I'll go find her. 

[Exitj left. Eldra and Orson come on, rear] 

Ors. O, is it true? My faithful heart is blest at last? 
My rival indeed vanquished? And I — ^I am your adored 

Eld. Yes, but don't be a bigger fool than you can help. 

Ors. Fool, ma'am? 

Eld. There, there, I mean don't forget that you are a 
man of dignity 

Ors. Ah! Don't trouble yourself. 

Eld. And cosset me before folks, like a biunpkin with 
his first lass. 

Ors. I'll be patient — ^before company. Though I 
should just like to show that man of blood what my rights 
are now. But you mean it, Eldra? This is not another 
jade's trick? 

Eld. *Tis true — always barring that my man don't come 
back to claim me. 

Ors, The fishes keep him! 

[Re-erder 8tephen\ Ah! 

Eld. \Whispers sweetly to Orson, then discovers Stephen] 
O, here he is! Now, Orson, I know you 11 be friends wi' 
Mr. Stephen. Just to please me now. You see, sir, 
Orson's been courtin' me many a year, and I had just 
about give in like a weak woman, when you came and got 
me all upset somehow, lookin' so much like my man who 
was drowned at sea, an' his own name too. I did lose 


my head so at times I could 'a' sworn you were my very 
man, but what you said about Liz o' Logan brought me 
to my right mind again, and Orson is willing to make up, 
and I'm sure we can all be friends, only me and Orson 
won't be presumin', an' shame take me to think I ever 
looked so high as a king's man wi' an advancement — 
though Orson is a man of dignity now — ^and — sit down, 
Orson! [Sits at table and pours ale for herself and Orson\ 
We take a snip together about this time every momin'. 
Orson's got no quarrel with the ale cost, and he does love 
my raisin' o' bread and cake. 

Ors, And who doesn't let him starve in a ditch! We 
don't ask you to sit. Mister Stephen. We know our 
place, and hope you know yours. 

Eld. Ay, a kill's man must keep his head high. 

Ors, High, my love? 

Eld. I mean with an advancement. 

Ors. 'Tis well. You know me, Eldra. 

Eld. I hope I do, Orson. 

Ors. And you must own, my dear, that you came to 
your right mind in very good time. 

Eld. I'm reasonably thankful, Orson. I know what it 
is to be a soldier's wife. 

Ors. They lie not between linen, I warrant you. 

Eld. Linen? An they get muslin without begging it, 
they may thank fortune! 

Ors. With never a silk smock for the fair. 

Eld. Silk smock? An a new one comes before the old 
one drops oflF they may say their prayers for it! 

Ors. But well be snug enough, my dear. 

Eld. That we will! 

Ors. And winter coming on. Ah! 

Eld. True enough. 

Ors. A good fire. 

Eld. Yes, my love. 


Ora. A little mulled sack, if the night be wet. 

Eld. Indeed, my dear! And a hot posset for your cold, 
curdled with sweet wine. 

Ors. Humph! A little tart, I beg you, to give it spice. 

Eld. Well, our tastes won't quarrel. I know a wife's 

Ors. By my life, you do! O, 'tis a merry day! Would 
I were not a man of dignity now! [Pats her] 

Eld. Orson! 

Ors. I mean — O, come! "Ks a merry day! Give us a 
song, mister soldier! 

Ste. 111 give you the devil! 

Ors. How, sir? You seem disturbed. Perhaps your 
reflections are not so happy as mine. It may be your 
mistress has not such an adoring and adorable eye — can 
not feast you with her cheeks — [kisses Eldra] — regale you 
with her lips — [kisses her] 

Ste. Scoundrel! Kiss my wife? [Takes him by collar 
and throws him aside] 

Eld. My Stephen! 

Ste. My Eldra! 

Eld, [Running to his arms] I knew it was you! 

Ste. I knew it was you ! 

Eld. Why didn't you tell me? 

Ste. Why didn't you tell me? 

Ors. As a man of dignity now, I should like to ask why 
you didn't tell Tnel 

Ste. [Dancing up and dovm stage v)ith Eldra] Ay, Orson, 
'tis a merry day ! Come, come ! Here's a good ale for all. 
To you, Orson! [Drinks] And let the song go 'round! 
[All sing] 

Ho, Autumn time, O, Autunm time. 

When every wind is jolly. 
And pip and pear drop in their prime 
For tooth of fun and folly! 


When Hobnail's store is ripe for raids. 

And grapes go to the pressing, 
And apple cheeks are like a maid's 

When Jack would be a-kissing! 

Ho, hips and haws for vagabonds, 

Vfiih russets for who 11 dare. 
And hazels by the meadow ponds. 

Brown-sweet for barefoot 's fare I 

The pettychaps beflit the larch. 
The ro^s from barn-top scold, 

And sunmier rogues are on the march 
For quarters 'gainst the cold. 

Ho, Autumn time, O, Autumn time! 

When every wind is jolly. 
And pip and pear drop in their prime 

For tooth of fun and folly! 

Eld. Hist! My lady is coming with her knight. 

Ste. What knight? Nobody should be coming here 
but the earl of Kent and my lord of Wynne. Come, lass, 
what knight? 

Eld. O, now it*s out, you must be as mum as a dumb 
man's grave. My lady has a lover, and a sweet young 
knight he is, too, who rides out every week just for a peep 
at her. List! You can hear them now, just over the 

Ste. And the master doesn't know! By Heaven, the 
man's a villain, and I'm a traitor to my lord of Kent if I 
don't wring his neck! 

Eld. Stephen! Stephen! 

Ors. Hold, sir! 


Ste. OS with you ! I'd drag him out an 'twere the king 
himself! [Leaps through the hedge and jmUs the king 
through] God's mercy! I am dead! It is the king! 

[AU kneel to the king. Glaia comes through the hedge] 

Gla. The king? 

Hen. Tis true. I am that wretched man. 
Your sovereign. [Kneels] 

Ste. [Aside] Kneel to a woman! Nay, 
Not Stephen! [Rises] 

Hen. Speak, sweet, and say that I'm forgiven! 

Gla. My Henry 111 forgive, but not the king. 

Hen. No pity for the king? O, take him, too, 
Fair Glaia, crown and all ! [Rises] Look not away. 
Nor down, nor up, nor anywhere but here. 
Say thoult forgive, well instantly to court. 
For there's a spirit sits within this hour, 
like silent wisdom in a lovely face. 
That gives me confidence. We'll to the court! 
I know thou art a maid of noble blood. 
For thou 'rt indexed with rank's unerring sign. 
And dearly limned by Nature for a queen. 
Weep not, my sweet, thy lover is a king. 
And by my soul, and these dear wildered eyes. 
And by the life in these blue wandering veins, 

[kissing her hand] 
These azure rivers in a lily field — 
111 lift thee high as is the English throne! 

[Exeunt the king and Glaia] 

Ste. Now there 11 be a broil at court to please all the 
witches on the island. 

Eld. And 'twas you dropped the devil's meat into the 
pot. O, woe, woe, woe! That I should live to see my 
lady wed the king! 

Ste. Well, worse could 'a* happened. The king might 
have had me hung, and it's bad luck to be a widow twice 


to the same man. I*m for the court to keep both eyes 
open for what sport befalls. 

Eld. Sport? O, the poor lord of Wynne! What will 
he do now? May be 'tis sent on him for worshippin' my 
lady like the Holy Virgin. Sport? O, that you should 
be my husband and a villain! Up with you, Orson! 
There's work for such poor servants as we be. 

Ors. Servant, ma'am? Dost not think that this high 
connection of my lady's will make me lord chamberlain 

Eld. Ay, thoult get thy right place, I hope, though it 

be lord footman to a donkey ! Come along with you both ! 

[Exeunt. Re-enter the king and Glaia] 

Gla. I can't believe it yet, your majesty. 

Hen. Nay, Henry, love. The name you gave me first. 
By that alone 111 live upon your lips. f 

Ola. I should be gay, — ^alack, I am half sad. 
A sort of music here is gone. Mayhap 
I loved my brother better than the king. 

Hen. Thy brother? Call me that no more. My bride! 
The sleeping angel I would kiss awake. 
For waking thou art human and can love. 
Ah, Glaia, none doth know how I have dreamed. 
For kings must give up all just to be kings — 
How oft at night I've left the palace world 
To find me lodging in the sweeter air 
Where spirits hold their gentle pageantries. 
And meet the winds that blow from destiny 
Pregnant with fortime for my famished soul, — 
While they who stood about the royal bed. 
Whose stealthful eyes held me in silken jail. 
Knew not my body lay imtenanted 
And they but guarded clay. And everywhere 
*Twas thee I sought, my Glaia. When you came, 
I looked, and knew that I need dream no more. 


Qla. And thou art no more sad? I make thee happy? 

Hen. When I am with thee 'tis continual Spring, 
For in my heart is such sweet jugglery 
Each winter-ragged month doth put on May. 

Gla. It makes me fear to be so much to thee. 
O, Henry, leave me, — ^leave me here a child 
That never shall be woman, — ^ne'er shall seek 
The bitter knowledge of the human world. 

[A fawn comes to her from the wood. She fondles it] 
See, brother! I would ope no book less pure 
Than these large eyes. Ah, me, was ever soul 
So full of earth as mine? I can love nothing 
But woods and streams, and these unspeaking things 
That reasonless may build no dream of God. 
My Henry, why this fear that if I go 
fl^rom this dear world 111 come to it no more? 

Hen. Cast oflF the doubt — ^and here I trample it. 
We shall come often to this home of peace. 
But, Glaia, let us go. The hours run fast. 
And eve must find me at the court. 

Gla. The court? 

There does my rival in my lover speak. 
There speaks my enemy, for in the court 
I shall find that will make these fears all plain. 

Hen. Fear nothing now! I see thou knowest how 
To please me' best, making me woo thee o'er 
And o'er again, for naught could be more sweet! 
[Exeunt. Curtain] 

Scene 2. Roam in Westminster palace. The earl of Kent 
and countess of Albemarle talking. 

Kent. Why do you doubt? You've ever trusted me. 

La. Alb. Ay, while you were all man. 

Kent. So am I now. 


La. Alb. Nay, you are one half woman, being married. 
' A wife's the key may ope her husband's heart 
. To all the world. She is the pick and pry 
)To every lock of trust, and weasels through 
His secrets spite all seals. Swear, Hubert, swear 
That Margaret shall not know! 

Kent. Have I not sworn? 

How many times will you demand my oath? 

La. Alb. A thousand thousand will not bring me 

Kerd. Ah, Eleanor, why desolate your days 
With this wild fear? 'Tis Heaven you've sinned against. 
Not man. Look thou above for condemnation. 
The world is harsh to virtue, not to sin. 
See how the daughter of the earl of Valence, ^ 

John's one-time mistress, proudly holds her head, ▼ 

Nor lacks for fawning followers? And mark 
How Rosamond's two sons have fixed their line 
Fast 'mong our English peers. If you would dare 
To bring sweet Glaia forth, I do not doubt 
The court would welcome her as princess bom. 

La. Alb. But Albemarle! He never would forgive! 
Christine of Valence was not wife to him. 
Else would her mimic court be dungeon close. 
And racks, not lovers, kiss her dainty fingers. 
You've never seen his rage! O, swear again 
You'll set securest watch on act and tongue. 
Nor let 

Kent. Here is your lord with Winchester. 

La. Alb. O! 

Kent. Come, I'll satisfy you, Eleanor. 

[Exeunt^ right. Winchester and Albemarle enter rear] 

Win. The name of Kent erases church and state 
And king. Fortune grows doting, and would make 
A darling of this man. 


Alb. Shell change her love, 

Doubt not. 

Win. *Tis time. New favors upon him light 
As birds on fruity branches. Castles and estates 
Are but as feathers every wind brings in. 
Dost not begin to fear him? 

Alb. You are pleasant. 

I fear? When I could lend him half my power. 
And yet o'erbear him? In the north there are 
One thousand leaders holding swords of me! 

Win. I'm answered then? 

Alb. Ay, sir. Though not from love 

To Kent, nor hate to you, do I deny you. 
But 111 not stand the champion of a wanton, 
-Though royal daughter of a royal sire. 
"The knightly Albemarles have never stooped 
To lift adultery from its miry bed 
And set its colors on their virtuous helm. 

Win. Now, by your leave, the half of England comes 
Into the world by left hand of the priest. 
Yet fight and pray as well as you or I, 
Nor bates a jot their honor in men's eyes. 

Alb. You have my answer. When I'm ready for't, 
I'll tumble Kent to earth in my own fashion. 
And not by means that sets French Adelais 
On virtue's pinnacle, a star of gilt 
To falsely glitter in the eye of dames 
And set them wandering with their vanities 
Till they forget the way to their true lords. 

Win, [Musing] I'm writing a court history, your grace. 
'Twas John, I think, who set your countess' father 
On fortune's road. 

Alb. Nay, 'twas the king before him, 

Henry the Second. 

Win. [Going] Well, my wary lord. 


I have no bruise to nurse, and meet the blow 
Befalls from any point. 

Alb. What do you say? 

Win. I say, my lord. 111 strike as pleases me. 
And you keep cover as you will. [Earit] 

Alb. A bruise? 

Keep cover? Gods! And I stood still! The dog! 
Ill after him and take him by the throat! 

[Re-enter lady Albemarle, right] 

La. Alb, What said our ancient enemy? 

Alb. Enough! 

He angered me! 

La. Alb. But what the cause, my lord? 

Alb. He'll quash the claim the church makes to my 
If I will aid in bringing Kent to trial 
On charge of Adelais, who sojourns here 
To push her old appeal. I will not do 't! 

La. Alb. Thanks that you shield my brother, by whose 

You droop. 

Alb. I shield your brother? When his name 
Is Kent? Nay, you mistake me. I refused 
Because this princess was no more nor less 
Than Henry Second's mistress, and the son. 
Whose death is laid to Kent, was the vile fruit 
Of wantonness. A princess! I'd forgive 
A milkmaid false, but error in the great 
Is so bestarred by its exalted place 
That those beneath mistake what is so lustered 
For the true sun. 

La. Alb. Hast seen the king, my lord? 

Alb. I say 'tis guilt of such a heinous sort. 
So foully odorous and so far bestrewn. 
The sea o'errunning Britain could not wash 
The island free of it! 


La. Alb. 'Tis very wrong. 

Alh. What! Set this princess over all your heads 
As she were halo-browed, that you might pray 
Her saintly patronage for your loose hopes? 

La. Alb. Indeed, it is not well. 

Alb. WeU? BymyUfe, 

Our English dames are running mad enough. 
And must be duchesses because — ^look ye — 
They're wantons to a king! Out on your kind! 
[Aside, slowly] "'Twas John, I think, who set your 

countess' father 
On fortune's road." You've been a handsome woman — 
Could foot right well on Venus' heels. My soul. 
There's beauty in you yet to draw an eye 
O'er the picket of defence! 
I La. Alb. My lord, I pray you 

Alb. 'Tis well that our young Richard has my eye. 
And trick of walk, and way of sudden speech. 
Else I'd suspect a cuckoo in the nest. 
For all your dainty strictures and high head! 

La. Alb. For Christ's sake, Albemarle 

Alb. Ay, had he not 

My very shoulder hitch and swelling neck 
This night I'd drag him to the eastern tower 
And hurl him to the Thames! 

La. Alb. My God! 

Alb. For you 

I'd pay out my estate in hire of men 
To spend their lives devising drawn-out pains 
That death might feed and grow upon itself! 

La. Alb. Ah, sir, no need. I'm dead now with your 

Alb. The king is entering. Look up, my dame. 
I rage to think you could be false, and not 
Because you are. Come, where 's your blood, my lady? 


Those frosted cheeks are not the royal color. 

Smile and 111 pardon you. I know you true. 

[Aside] But when we're home again well talk somewhat 

Of those same favors granted to your father. 

[Enter Pembroke, Winchestery and others. Pembroke and 
Winchester talk apart] 

Pern. But where is Gualo? He is friend to Kent. 

Win. Shipped back to Rome. 

Pem. WeU done! 

Win. That is made sure. 

And now 111 push the claim of Adelais 
With all the power pillared by the church. 

Pem. Henry will never yield. He wraps the earl 
So close in love 'twill shake the throne to part them. 
There's no path to the king not barriered 
By Kent's unceasing watch. 

Win. I'll drop a canker 

Will eat a way for us. Ah, here they come. 

Pem. Arm-locked as king and king; and eye to eye, 
Like lovers changing souls. 

[Enter Henry, Kent, Lord Wynne. Lords and ladies, 
among whom is Margaret, enter behind them] 

Hen. [ To Kent] I fear to tell you, Hubert, even you. 

Kent. I do not fear to hear it, whate'er you do 
So well becomes a throne. 

Hen. You promise then 

Your fullest pardon? 

Kent. Your open deeds, my lord. 

Bear such a noble front I should not fear 
To clap a lusty "ay" to all you've done 
In secret. 

Hen. Thank you, Kent. And Roland, too, — 
Our good lord Wjmne — must echo you with pardon. 
For I have touched him when he felt me not. 
And shortly he must look upon his wound. 


Wynne. I do not fear to see it. You've taught me, sir, 
The wounds you give me carry their own heal. 

Hen. But this is deep. 

Wynne. The richer then the balm. 

Hen. Then out, poor Henry, with thy heart's misdeed. 
[Turns to the court] 
Listen, my lords, — ^my gracious court, — ^to you 
I make appeal. Is any here who holds 
Me in such wintry and removed regard 
He would not grant my heart its choice in love? 
[Surprise and silence] 

Win. Your wisdom, sire, that sets the cap of age 
Upon the curls of youth, gives us excuse 
To bid you choose at will your royal mate. 
If I speak not for all, we'll hear dissent. 

This silence warrants you to woo and speed. 

Hen. That I have done, and now can show to you 
This jewel of my choice that late I found 
Deep hidden from the world. So fixed my love, 
I can not wait to wander through the ways 
A king comes to betrothal, and shall win 
Your quick assent, even now, by bringing her 
To your commending eyes. 

[Exit Henry] 

A lord. What does he mean? 

Is this some princely revel? 

Another lord. It may be. 

And our part is to smile. 

Win. [To Pembroke] Mark you earl Kent? 
He changes face. 

Pern. And his pale friend, lord Wynne, 

Turns corpse on 's feet. 

Win. Ha! Is it possible 

They were not privy to this kingly move? 


[Re-enter Henry, leading Glaia] 

Hen. Here, dear my lords! Look on my choice and 

That here might come Rome's vestals to repair 
Their tapers dim. Is she not royal, friends? 
See how her eyes look bravely into yours. 
Though on her cheek a sweet timidity 
Doth couch in coral. Now commend me, all! 
And Hubert, earl of Kent, say whence is she. 
And what her parentage? For all I know 
Is that I found her bowered in Greenot woods. 

Kent. My God! 

Hen. O, Hubert, muffle up the storm 
Rides on your brow, and smile upon my love! 

Kent. Believe me, sire, she can not be your wife. 

Hen. Not be my wife? Unsay the words, dear Hubert. 
You mean, perhaps, she's humbler bom than I — 
The daughter of a duke — an earl^ — ^a lord — ^ _ 
Ay, say a knight that bravely bore his shield, 
And all the gap 'twixt her degree and mine 
Her native graces will bridge o'er and make 
Her way unto my throne. 

Kent. [Kneeling] O, king beloved, 

You must believe me! She can not be yours! 

Hen. Then, Heaven, turn foul, thou dost not shine 
for me! 
Rise, Hubert, rise, for I must love you still. 
Though you have robbed me of the sun and stars. 

Kent. [Rises] My noblest sovereign ! 

Hen. Now let me hear 

Why this ne'er mated dove can not be mine. 
And I'll attend thee patient as the dead 
Do list their requiem. 

Kent. Sire, I am pledged. 

Such sacred oaths are warders at my lips 


That angels would turn pale in Heaven to hear 
Their violation. 

Hen, Oaths? We must not hear? 

Kefni. Not from my lips. It may be from another's 
In better time. 

Hen. In better time? By Heaven, 

You shall uncover here her history, 
And I myself shall say if she may be 
My own or no! 

Kent, Thy mercy on a man 

In one hour old I 

Hen, You are the torturer! 

O, Hubert, Hubert, I am on my knees! 

Kent, Sire, give me leave to go, and take this maid. 
So long my care that I must keep her still. 
Come, Glaia — child — 'tis Hubert takes thy hand. 
My sovereign lord, I go with sorrow hence. 
I would my tongue were torn from its curst root 
Than spe^ you woe, — but do not hope, my li^e. 
Your husband hand can ever touch this maid. 
The thought to ague shakes my soul ! 

[ExU Kent with Olaia. Margaret would foUow^ hui is 
detained by lady Albemarle^ who is half swooning. 
Winchester kneels and kisses the king^s robe] 

Win. My king, 

ThouVt still beloved. 

Hen. Ah, what canst say to one 

So pinioned by distress that he must lose 
His dearest friend or dearest love? 

Win. My lord, if friendship may have leave to speak 
As fits its hcJy bond and name 

Hen. O, speak! 

Say anything! 

Win. Too loiig you have been wronged. 

Did nol Ki&ai win by stealth the Scottish princess. 


Your promised bride? Consorting his base blood 
With royalty? — ^which was his secret aim, 
And all his burning love for Margaret 
But feigned and politic to gain your pity. 
Again he's at your heart! And hopes once more 
To bear himself to high success. If not, 
With face assumed and sorrowing hell melt 
You to forgiveness. 

Mar, Listen not, my li^e ! 

Hen. \To Winchester] Is this your comfort? 

Mar, Sire, he slanders love 

As true as God's to men, who says my lord 
Is false! 

Win. Her pride would say as much, my li^e. 
As for this maid, — whom majesty might choose. 
And all the kingdom feel itself adorned, — 
She's either heir to vast and rich estates, 
Or Kent dotes on her with such jealous love 
He will not yield her even to his king. 
And both these reasons, sire, I urge as one 
T' explain his stout refusal to make known 
What honesty would haste to shout aloud. 

Wynne. Who says that Kent, in friendship or in love. 
E'er sought his gain, doth foully lie! 

Win. This man 

Is Kent's own creature. 

Hen. Ah, that's not his sin. 

He loves my Glaia, and would make her his. 

Wynne. Yes, sire, I love her, — ^you are right so far, — 
But, sovereign lord, I would expect as soon 
To pottle with an angel at an inn 
As make her mine. Though Hubert spurred my suit 

Hen. He favored you! 

Wynne. He set no bars between us. 

Hen. Ah, you could wed her — ^let the king go b^! 


Alb. Away, you perked-up villain! Out of this! 

Wynne, When you come with me, sir, that I may slit 
The tongue that fouls my name! 

Alb. My hot-mouthed sir, 

I'll leave his majesty to teach you better manners. 

Hen. And here I do, with a ne'er-ending lesson. 
Roland de Bom, so lately lord of Wynne, 
Thou 'rt banished from our realms, not to return. 
Though thou shouldst live to see more years than yet 
Man ever numbered his. 

Wynne. Is this your will? 

Hen. In truth, 'tis nothing else! 

Wynne. Then, are, farewell. 

Some men are fashioned men by circumstance — 
Shaped by what wind blows on them. In their veins 
The heavens croak or sing. Does the sky frown. 
They're muddy and befouled, — ^it smiles, and straight 
Fair weather's in their blood, sporting its flag 
In their new countenance. Not I, my lords! 
Nay, on the winds my soul shall leave its shape. 
And where I venture I am what I am, 
A knight of England, loyal to his king. [Eixni] 

Alb. Death to his arrogance! 

Pern. This judgment, sire. 

Is much too modest. 

Win. Hear us now, my liege. 

For you have heard too little these months past. 

Hen. My lords, I am too faint and troubled now 
To understand if you be friends or foes. 
Or if the earl of Kent be false to me; 
But come, and what you choose to speak. 111 hear. 
. . . Glaia, art gone from me? Ah, who would live? 
The winds of doom are sold by Lapland witches. 
Who mix the compass points and blow us foul 
When we have paid our fortune to go fair. 


[Exeunt Henry and lords. Lady Albemarle and Mar- 
garet are left alone] 

Mar. Why do you keep me so? 

La. Alb. Where would you go? 

Mar. Where else but to my lord? 

La. Alb. You shall not go. 

O, stay with me! One moment, Margaret! 

Mar. Another? Nay, you're better. I must go. 
O, Eleanor, didst hear that Winchester? 
Foul murderer of honor — ^Hubert's honor! 
Can these be tongues of men? . . . And Roland banished! 

La. Alb. Canst think of him? 

Mar. He's Hubert's friend. Who now 
Will stand by him? 

La. Alb. You, Margaret, and I. 

Mar. Yes — ^let me go! 

La. Alb, What will you say to him? 

Mar. Beg him not let his bitter thoughts usurp 
Quite all his heart, but leave a little room 
That e*er so small will make me ample heaven. 

La. Alb. You will not ask of Glaia? 

Mar. Ask? Dost think 

That I must ask? 

La. Alb. He will not tell thee! 

Mar. Not? 

I am his heart. His veins run not with health 
Except as I know how they course, and beat 
Concordantly. Doubt not hell tell me all. 

La. Alb. He shall not tell thee! 

Mar. Madam, you are strange. 

La. Alb. Ay, Margaret, and strangest to myself. 
O, he is true! Dear God, I know he's true! 

Mar. Make it no question then. For by the sim, 
And heaven's starry clock that now goes by. 
You shall not say he's false to Margaret! 


La. Alb. To you? Ha! false to you? Dost think my 
Must ever web round you? 

Mar. [Going] You are his sister. 

La. Alb. What, are you gone? Forgive me, Margaret. 

Mar. Ah, you forget that I am suffering too. 

La. Alb. You suffer? You? 

Mar. You have a husband, madam. 

La. Alb. I have. Let me remember him. Ha, ha! 
You suffer, icicle? What do you know of pain 
But as the lookers on about a pit 
See one at bottom dying? As curious eyes 
R^ard the writhing heretic at stake? 
Or say, as angels flying heavenward turn 
To give one grudged tear unto the damned? 
That is your pain, you pure, proud Margaret! 
. . . O, madness, seize me! 

Mar. By my fears you have 

No need to pray for *t. 

La. Alb. Conscience, where dost sleep? 

Let me tread by nor rouse thee. 

Mar. Eleanor? 

La. Alb. Whence are those floods of fire? O, Hubert, 
save me! 

Mar. Dear Eleanor, be calm. I did not think 
You loved your brother so. 

La. Alb. What's that you say? 

Ah, yes, 'tis Margaret. Go to him now. 
Ask of this maid — then blazon all — all — all! 

Mar. Come with me, Eleanor. 

La. Alb. Drive home the knife 

Now threats his heart! 

Mar. Come with me, come! 

La. Alb. 'Tis fit 

His wife should do it! 


Mar, Come, dear Eleanor. 

[Exeunt, right. Henry, Winchester, Albemarle, Pemr- 
broke, enter rear] 

Win. We're glad you are convinced, my lord. 

Hen. Glad, sir? 

Glad that one half my heart is mottled, foul. 
Diseased, and must be cut away, though I 
Die with the cleaving? Ay, I am convinced. 

Win. And give consent that Kent be made to answer 
The charge of Adelais? 

Hen. Be 't as you please. 

Pern. 'Twere best to haste in this, ere all the shires 
Misled in love by Kent, hear of his danger. 

Win. I have the warrant here. It lacks your seal. 
My liege. 

Hen. [Quickly sealing it] Now it does not. Here splits 
my heart. 
And half falls with thee, Hubert. 

[Winchester comforts him. Albemarle and Pembroke talk 

Pem. In fewest words, 

What purpose you? 

Alb. To ride at once to north, 

And through my agents stir up a rebellion 
Against the king, whom we must make appear 
Kent's sole remover, for he now 's become 
The idol of the witless multitude. 
With whose hot sanction we may move 'gainst Henry 
And roll his head as fast as Kent's to hell. 

Pem. But you must see the trial. 

Alb. So I aim. 

But if I'm blocked therein, I look to you 
To keep me stationed in my feudal rights. 
And what you venture for me 111 make good 
With forty thousand men, or horse or foot. 


Hen, Where is lord Wynne? Inquire if he has gone? 

Alb, Hell trouble you no more, for if my servants 
Be to me loyal they've set him toward the sea. 

Hen. You're pert in my own matters. I bethought me 
I would recall his sentence. He is noble. 
And I have done him wrong. Why press about me? 
Ye are devils all ! Call me the earl of Kent. 

Win. He is not here, my lord. 

Hen, Give me the warrant. 

Quick, sir! Ill have it back! I'll take more time! 

Win, 'Tis gone, my li^e. 

Hen, Gone? Is the devil your post? 

Pern. We pray your pardon, sire. 

Hen, Could you not ^ve 

One little hour to old friends taking leave. 
Though one is a poor king? Away from me! 

Win, Dear majesty, beloved above all kings. 
Let not your frown unpay again the service 
Your smile even now rewarded. 'Tis too much, 
Howe'er we have endured, to ask our silence 
While Kent doth rob thee of a fairer queen 
Hian ever made a court seem gaudy poor 
By her rich self. Must we stand humbly back, 
That he may please his bosom with her beauty. 
And bury in his lust what forth should shine 
Thine and a happy England's constant sun? 

Pern, No doubt, my Uege, we shall remove each bar 
That shuts you from your love, and please ourselves 
The most in pleasing you. 

Hen, O, make her mine. 

And all you wish, if kings have power o'er fate. 
Will come to pass. I trust you — ^yet — ^and yet — 
Who can be true when Huberts are found false? 



Scene 1. A room in the earl of Kent's palace. An inner 
room rear, cvi off by curtains. Kent alone. 

Kent. Now, Eleanor, wilt prove thee saint, or devil? 
Wilt mend this breach, or must I perish in it? 
Too well I know that soul's dark history 
To think it may breed light. The moment globes 
The years' full character; a whole life's face 
Peeps out in smallest deeds. Yet wonders are. 
And Eleanor may prove false to herself 
To once keep faith with Heaven. 

[Idstens] Glaia? Ay! 
[Goes to curtains rear, parts them softly, looks within and 
She did not caU. Ill watch all night. 'Twill be 
No added task since there's no sleep for me. 
My Margaret is safe. They dare not touch 
A princess of the blood. But I am down. 
'TIS said and sung there is no greater pain 
Than wrenches Fortune's nurslings when she flies. 
Not so. False lady of the wheel, take all ! 
But O, to see my king yield to the wolves 
Now fang-close to his heart — ^there is my death! 
[Sits on a couch, his head bowed. Margaret enters, 
advances softly and embraces him. He looks up^ re- 
turning her caress] 
Now let the world go on. 111 rest me here. 
Why should I keep my hand proud on the helm, 



War with the unsated surge, nor know the pause 
That is the spirit's silent growing time? 
Ah, Margaret, how little will content thee? 
No more nor less than love and poorest me? 

Mar. No more, my lord. Nor will aught less make full 
My greedy cup. Thou wert the king's, but now 
Thou art all mine. All mine, my love? Or is 
That little "all" my greatest flatterer? 

Kefni. You know my heart. Where have you been so 

Mar. With Eleanor. I brought her home with me. 

Kent. She's here? 

Mar. Yes, Hubert. Ah, she loves you well. 

Kent. She loves me? 

Mar. Better than you thought. 

Kent. \In sudden hope] Then . . . Speak! 
What has she told you? 

Mar. Nothing. What, my lord. 

Should she have told me? 

Kent. [DuUy] Nothing. 

Mar. I have heard 

So much of this — this nothing. 

Kent. Margaret, 

Thou hast my soul. Wilt keep it true for me? 

Mar. I keep it? No, I doubt myself. 

Kent. Thyself? 

Then trust my trust in thee, which meets thy love 
As swallows meet the waking winds of Spring 
And know where life is. 

Mar. Doubt or trust, I love thee! 

O Hubert, let us go this night to lands 
That know how to be kind and smile on lovers. 

Kent. Dost hope by flying England to fly pain. 
That everywhere encircles man as fire 
To shape his soul in fashion of his God? 


Mar, For love and life I b^! Why do I say 
For love and life, since there's no life for me 
Without thy love? O, you will go with me! 
Leave the ungrateful king to wed at will 

Kerd. Leave Glaia to the king? The thought is flame! 

Mar. {Standing before him, suddenly tense] 
Who is this maiden that you guard as she 
Were the one drop of blood that in your heart 
Makes living centre? Who? 

Kent. [Aper a paitse] You heard my answer. 

Mar. Ay, to the king, but not to me — ^thyself — 
Nay more, for when thou takest away thyself, 
Though in the smallest part, so much I die, — 
And by this secret that divorces us 
Am wholly slain. But tell it to me, Hubert, 
And 'twill become another blessed bond. 
To second union closer than the first 
Re-sanctioning our souls. 

[He is silent. Her rage overcomes her] 
Unseal thy lips. 
Or by the fires that flit now through my brain. 
By the ancestral wrongs within my blood 
That start suspicion where there is no foe, 
I shall b^in to doubt thee! Who is she 
To thee who art my husband? 

Kent. Margaret, 

Go to the maiden lying yon and look 
Once more upon her vestal face, then ask 
If she know aught of guilt. 

[Margaret looks silently toward the curtains] 

Mar. [In subdued tone] She's there? 

Kent. Poor child! 

I thought you'd be her gentle, elder sister, 
And help me still her woeful flutterings. 

[Turns away] 


Where's now the proud, sure strength that made discount 

Of Heaven's arm? O, reed-propped vanities, 

Swelling usurpful till ye seem our life, 

Ye must come down that we may find ourselves 

And God. 

Mar. O, take me back! I did not know 
This spirit dwelt in me. One of my race, 
A woman, long ago, stabbed through a heart 
That played her false, yet she was gentle too. 
And died for what her hand had done. May be 
The imquiet dead come back to live in us. 
O, it was she stirred this strange passion in me. 
'Twas not myself. Speak to me, Hubert! Say 
'Twas not myself. 

Kent. [Embracing her] Sole angel of my love! 

Mar. You'll take me back? Let Time begin his count 
One minute past, and leave the last one out. 
O, say a word will sponge it from the day, 
Or all my future must turn back its face 
And live with gazing on that minute's point. 

Kent. It was not you, my heart. But say it were. 
Should I pull down my heaven because a bird 
Makes flying blot against it? 'Tis the doubts 
That darkly flitting show love's constant sky 
Forever radiant. 

Mar. Ome! O me! 

And this is shame! 

Kent. Nay, sweet! Weep, if you must. 

But let thy tears be rain upon the soul 
Making a fair new season. 

Mar. Let me die! 

Kent. So overwrought? Thou who hast been my 

Mar. If I were dead then you 

Kent. Should be as thou ! 


Tis not thy death but Glaia's that would be 
The sad solution of these woes. 

Mar, Not her. 

So fair . . . and dear to us. 

Kent. [Kissing her] My gentle love! 

. . . *Twere best she died, who now must drink the cup 
That makes death sweet in coming. I myself 
Almost could guide the knife unto her heart 
And cut oflF ruder visitors. 

Mar. O, veil 

The thought. Its nakedness has chilled my soul. 

Kent. Ay, she is God's, not mine. Leave her to him. 
And now, my life, you, too, must go to rest. 

Mar. Youll not to bed? 

Kent. The king may send for me. 

He will not sleep, for in his face was woe 
Will quiet not to slumber. 

Mar. O, my love. 

How can I leave thee now? If thou wert held 
By softest sleep on pillows of content 
I could no less than weep to go from thee. 
And yet these tears are all I have when thou 
Art left to sad, despairing watch. Ill stay. 
For I've no words to part with, none to tell 
How breaks my heart in going. 

Kent. Nay, I must work. 

And you will call my wits to otherwheres; 
Then in the mom these eyes, undewed with sleep. 
Will show me not the light that must be mine. 

Mar. Dost toy with words to me? Not in my eyes, 
But in my heart bums thy imfailing torch. 
And if you find it dim it is thy secret 
Casts shade between us, not a lack in me. 

Kent. If I should speak then oaths were straws in fire. 

Mar. O, no, I would not have thee speak. That's past. 


Tis our misfortune that we are divided 

In this most pitchy hour that in itself 

Were nothing if our hearts could meet and melt 

In unreserved touch. In every life 

There comes a watch the soul must keep alone. 

The hour has struck for thine. And mine I feel 

Is not so far away. Now, now I go. 

My lord. Because I help you best in going. 

Our hearts would rush together, and the pain 

Grows in them baffled. Dearer than life, good night. 

I leave my prayers like candles set about you, 

And as they fail think of me on my knees 

Renewing them from Heaven. [Exit, right] 

Kent. Margaret! 

[PaiLses, slowly takes up the light and goes off, left, leav- 
ing the room in darkness. Curtain] 

Scene 2. The same room in darkness. Margaret enters, 
right, carrying a taper. 

Mar. I'll look upon her. When sleep slips the rein 
The soul plays in the face unguarded. Then 
The conscious warder holding up the mask 
Before the secret self bares all defence 
Unheedful of approach. Ill look, and pray 
To find the lineaments so pure by day 
Still guileless fair. O, that 'twere yesterday — 
/Sweet yesterday — ^when I knew not nor guessed 
' The sad division 'tween my soul and Hubert's! 
\ O, knowledge, rude deffler of our dreams, 
How oft we'd give thy hard, substantial store 
To build again with bright illusion's eye 
Our happy towers on the inconstant clouds: 
[Sees a light through curtains] 


She's up! No . . . who is there? 

[Veils her taper, KerU comes from the inner room. 
He carries a candle] 

Kent. She does not move. 

O, Eleanor, how could thy heart give blood 
To one so pure that he who loves her best 
Would send her back to Heaven? 

Mar. [Unheard by Kent] Eleanor! 

Her child! Her child! 

Kent. Fair Glaia, may'st thou rest, 

Nor ever wake till angels call thee up. 
[Looking back] Ay, ay, she sleeps. 

[ExU, left] 

Mar. How gracious art thou, God, 

To bless me so! O, wicked Eleanor! 
This was the fire that maddened thee to-night. 
Not fear for Hubert. How couldst make his life 
The priceless cloak of thy own worthless shame? 
But I can save him ! I will make thee speak, 
Unsistered woman! 

[Draws back the curtains, leaving them open, showing 
the inner room and bed on which Glaia lies] 
Glaia, now 111 look. 
Nor all thy grace shall hide the lines that mark 
Thy cruel mother. Can this be the face 
That breeds such misery? Fair heaven-case 
Of innocence ! . . , My Hubert's niece, so mine. 
How lily-cold in sleep! And still ... so still. 
A kiss will not awake thee — one as light 
As my own heart. So cold? O, cold as death! 

[Draws back the coverlet] 
Blood! Blood! A dagger here! O Heaven, 
That this smooth coverlet should hide so much! 

[Stands a moment in silent horror] 
And Hubert thought she slept. "Rest well," he said. 


''Nor ever wake till angds call thee up." 
Nor wflt thou wake till thai, poofr Glaia. O, 
How can I call him here to lode on this! 

[Takes up the dagger] 
Strange that the dayer left his dagger here. 
He in whose heart tiie thought of murder lives 
Has more of cunning in him. 

[Drops dagger suddenly] 
Hubert's! O! 
[Staggers away from bed and holds herself up by the cur- 
tains. Buries her face for an instant^ then looks up 
blanched and determined] 
I must act quickly. O, at cmce — at once! 
One pause may be the grave of resduticm. 
[Starts toward bed^ but stops] 
''She does not move/' he said . . . and ""ay, she sleeps/' 
As though she slept eternally. 

[Ooes to bed and takes up the dagger] 
His dagger. 
Oft has it pleased me to regard this hOt. 
Pearls winding like a milky way about 
A turquoise heaven. Even then my fate 
Lurked in the blade. Why do I talk, and b^ 
A vile delay? Pain is sole merchant here. 
And with each moment amplifies his profit. 
... I will not pray, for prayer is softening. 
And I must be too stem to pity self. 
I was a princess. Ill not think of that. 
For now I am a wife. And for my lord 
Must die. They'll find me here, and say the deed 
Was mine. My jealous hand avenged my wrong. 
. . . O gentle Heaven, he is not worthy this! 
Nay, nor no man, and yet for every man 
There lives a woman who would die for him. 
[Lifts the dagger] 


I can not strike. [Drops her arm] I must ... ere I 

go mad 
And leave the event to chance. 

[Lifts dagger y grows faint and falls with a cry to the floor. 

Kent erUerSf left] 
Kent. Twas Margaret's voice. My love? 

[Advances and sees Margaret on the floor] 

O, life of mine! 
[Looks toward bed] 

Glaia! Uncovered — bleeding — dead! Put out 
My eyes! Out . . . out. What cruelty yet lives 
In Heaven to show me this? O, Eleanor, 
Come, come and see how thy one sin has grown 
To widest hell! Thy Glaia dead . . . even cold . . . 
And Margaret . . . not dead . . . but would she were! 

[Bends over her] 
Yea, I could love thee then. My Margaret, 
Couldst do this thing? Thy hand was ever tender, 
And oft thou coveredst even guilt with mercy. 
. . . She could not do it. . . . Ay, she could . . . she 

For her ancestral steps are marked with blood. 
And but to-night her eye flashed with a look 
That like an evil star did point to this. 

[Knocking withovi, and opening of gates] 
My summons from the king. Ho, Rufus? 

[Draws coverlet 
over Glaia^s form] Glaia, 

iThou wert the bud of earth; infinity 
phall wear thy blossom and be proud. 
[Enter attendant] 
AU. My lord? 

Kent. Your mistress faints. Call up her women. 

[ExU attendant. Kent takes Margaret in his arms and 


bears her off, right. Re-enterSf goes to curtains and 
draws therriy concealing Glaia's bed\ 
O, Henry, now thy heart is struck. 

[Enter an attendant] 

Who comes? 
Att. Your grace, I do not know. Strange men who give 
No name, but say that they must see you. 

Kent. Must? 

Admit them. 
Att. Here, your grace? 
Kent. Ay, here. 

[Exit attendant. Kent picks up dagger from the 
floor] 'Tis mine. 

m wear my own. [Hangs dagger at his belt] 

Now is the earl of Kent 
A murderer. How feels it with you, sir? 
[Enter officers and attendants] 
Officer. My lord of Kent, you are our prisoner. 
Kent. By whose command? 
Off. The king's. 

Kent. O, April heart. 

Dost think 'twill ne'er be winter? What the crime? 

Off. You're charged, on pain of death, to show the son 
Of Adelais, of France. 

Kent. That sin is old 

And faded now. I know another blots 
O'er that. I'll bum your ears with 't as we go. 

[Exeunt. Curtain] 


Scene 1. A small altar room adjoining the hinges apart- 
merit, Henry bowed and kneeling. Enter Winchester 
and attendant 

Att, Since morning he has knelt, and sees no one. 
You are the first admitted. 

Win. Dear my lord 

Hen. [Rising and turning to Winchester] 
Will you, too, tell me she is dead? 

Win. Alas 

Hen. O, not that word — ^the pretty mask of woe, 
That never hid a tear. If she is dead. 
Weep and be dumb, or find some word that rends 
The heart in uttering it. 

Win. My lord 

Hen. My lord! 

You're too polite a mourner, by my faith! 
O, Glaia, Glaia, Glaia, art thou dead? 
Canst thou then sleep, O, God? 

Win. That he does sleep 

This deed is proof. 

Hen. What deed? 'Tis false! She lives. 

'Twas blessed yester mom I held her here. 
And heard her laugh and say my kisses were 
Like Maythom blossoms dropping on her hair. 
And can her voice be still? Nay, fiends themselves 
Love music, and would spare to put so much 


m Lonvfi and lovers 

Td ftOM(?«< O^ In hcFT Umgae the n^^ngale 
Wild d«ad« faftvliig tio sweeter cause to live. 
She (Hitild not dle^ A thousand thousand angels 
Would fush to save her and with silvery wings 
Seat haek the assaulting devil. 

ttUh. Would I could say 

Bhe lives I You dttJn my heart with every tear 
You drop upon tlits woe. Loved majesty. 
Look up and weep no more. 

tttHi Stop not my tears. 

Thejr shall pour sea-like till my body lies 
Ah Isle oVrwhelmedv My ej*es could lend the skies 
Another flmnl j*et lack not moisture. . . . Glaia! 
tt was n\v kiss that slew iliee« But for me 
, Thou liatlst Im^^^ living vttUK So Winter springs 
^\^ ^a»(^ his blu^iniBt Autumn lovt^. then spends 
Wfe Vji^lfjr wa*ott hut^niit Ik'*' dead kaves. 

IT^. ttt(Hi^ >(xMi% t^v k>y\l. Tbe crMilui^ is aKve 

tt^. IW k; tdWd^f-HMid K\«s— «im1 tqq 

\Swmto WW TO wH mef 

It^ An«$*e(i K^i^; 

W^^ tttie ¥MM(»A W >aiiE^ tt&3»a W <^^ 

>^^^, ^ ^ )d^ I ^be«i^ >tMi $liia t^ 
til ^ti/t >ty »ift *— >wi$i ^ ^s9na$e 4i iftm^^: — 

% 4tl9tfr^N4iml ^ %^ "iK^ls )!«i^^ 


Your wits are loyal, and inform you rightly. 
I said 'twas Kent 

Hen. Ha! Now the devil speaks 

In his own person. You've thrust the cloven foot 
Too far from 'neath the bishop's gown. 

Win, My lord- 

Hen, Now I read back and take the hellish measure 
Of all your lies! 

Win. Your majesty 

Hen. Sir, I have loved this man, and when I felt 
Too weak for England's throne, I laid my head 
Upon his breast and there grew strong as he. 
And you dare say 

Win. I do not say, my liege. 

The crime is his, but he confessed it so. 
Here are the words in which he danms himself. 

[Gives the king a paper] 

Hen. Drop from the world, O sun! Make all the air 
/Dark as my heart, that from this hour shall know 
No re-ascending star! Leave me, my lord. 
All's as you please. Do what you will. The world 
No more shall draw me forth to look upon it. 
Yet I am young, and had but learned to smile. 
[Enter attendant] 

Att. The earl of Pembroke begs to see my lord 
Of Winchester. 

Hen. Admit him here. Ill pray. 

[Turns to altar. Enter Pembroke] 

Win. What news, your grace? 

Pem. 'Tis strange enough, my lord. 
Kent's wife, the princess Margaret, now swears 
'Twas she who took the maiden's life, and speaks 
With so much care and proof of circumstance 
I scarce can doubt her. 


Win. Margaret! 

Pern. No other. 

She says 'twas she alone» and not her husband. 

Win. This fortune wears our colors. Give it wdcome. 
I feared she'd rouse all England, — Scotland, too, — 
In Kent's defence. You know her blood of dd. 
But now her hands are bound. 

Pern. Then youVe no doubt 

'Twas she? 

Win. I wish to have none, that's enough 
To shape my looks by. 

[Henry rises and comes toward them] 

Ah, my lic^e, we hear 
That Margaret is author of the crime 
We now bewail, not Kent. 

Hen. That it was either 

I can not whip my senses to believe. 

Win. She has confessed. 

Hen. Why, so did Kent. This shows 

A gap in proof. 

Win. Kent thought to shield his wife. 

Hen. Then he must love her well,(and yet your tongue 
Struck hard another way.) Nay, it is she 
Who thinks to save her lord. Poor Margaret, 
Thou hadst done better to have wed the king. 

Win. My lord, we can not doubt Kent loved this maid. 
'Twas as apparent as the light to eyes; 
And he would pause ere put her from his arms 
To bed with worms; but this same love would be 
Poor Margaret's bitter cause to wish her dead; 
And Jealousy, we know, is page to Murder, 
Holding the candle for the hellish stroke. 

Hen. But why should Kent confess? 

Win. With all his sins. 

He has the grace of chivalry, and thought 


By his confession to save Margaret, 

Not caring for his fate since he was doomed 

For other crime. 

Hen. I'll hear no more, my lord. 
A woman . . . and that woman — Margaret. 

Win, My li^e 

Hen. No more. Here is my seal. Tis yours. 
And now I b^ you go. Nothing is dear 
But grief, sole link 'tween me and love. Leave me, 
I pray. [Turns to altar] 

Win. [Aside^ gloating] Weep, fool, my star is in my 

Pern. Gk)d send you comfort, sire. 

[Exeunt Winchester and Pembroke] 
Hen. [To attendant] Let none approach me. 

[Exit attendant. 
Henry sings] 

I laid a rose upon my heart. 

Ay me! 
Soon 'gan its beauty to depart. 

Ay, ay me! 
I nursed it with desire. 

Still did its beauty go. 
For O, my heart was fire. 
Cruel fire! 

Ay me, I did not know, 
I did not know. 

[Enter a friar through 'panel door behind altar] 
Art thou a shadow come to say 
All men are shadows and naught living is? 

Friar. I come to give God's help and ask for thine, 
My son and king. 

Hen. 'Tis death, sir, thus to steal 

Into my presence. 


Friar, So I prove my love 

For thee, your highness, venturing life to reach 
Thine ear's seclusion. 

Hen, What wouldst tell me, father? 

I've heard your voice before and found it honest. 
By that, mayhap, we'll prove old friends. Come in. 

[Exeunt] ^ 

Scene 2. A prison corridor. Kent alone. 

Kent. Is this the end of Kent? The block and axe 
His porters to throw ope the sealed gate? 
I thought a good wife's prayers had usheiled me. 
And weeping peers had held my garments back 
Until the soul disdained to hide therein. 
. . . What value's in this worid that men will buy 't 
With so much groaning? This strange human chaos 
Where vice is often merit, merit vice, 
Or if they be themselves so change deserts 
That wisdom is clapped to gallows, folly to thrones. 
And innocence lifts up thin, fettered hands 
While guilt walks angel free. Where palsy shakes 
The pen from the seer's hand, and crowing health 
Bids fools to write; where Fame forgets to blush 
At Flattery's board, and Honor, pendulous 
'Twixt bribe and faith, dwindles inert and like 
A withered finger shames the hand of state. 
. . . Where Margarets can stripe their souls' pure white 
With guileless blood. She, she that was a dove 
To falcon turn and rend a fledgling's breast! 
It casts a doubt on Heaven, makes of faith 
A leper scourged from man's hale faculties. 
And love a monster of diseased minds! 
Come, dearest Death, and mis-shaped world away! 
[Margaret is admitted^ lefty by a turnkey] 


Turnkey, You're honest? All your jewels, ma'am? 

Mar. Ay, all! 

They have been praised, but had no worth till now 
When each one buys a minute with my lord. 

[Exeunt turnkey y locking door] 

[Margaret comes down corridor toward Kenty her hands 
behind her] 

Kent [Looking up] What devil drove you here? 

Mar, Did Hubert speak? 

Kent. What do you want? Why hold away your hands? 
Fear not that I'll embrace thee! 

Mar. What art thou? 

Kent. Nothing to thee, whatever else I am. 
Away! For Death and I have just locked hands. 
One moment more and I had cozened him 
Of all his pain. But you, dear, damned foe. 
Take up his weapons and re-gash my wounds. 

Mar. Is this my lord? 

Kent. Go. I conmiand you. Go! 

Eternity drops on me, and lightfoot Time 
Hies like a ghost to nothing. What dost here? 

Mar. I die. 

Kent. You die? No fear of that. You are 
Too great a lover of this life that vaunts 
A bloated bubble 'twixt immortal shores. 

Mar. If once "'twere true — ^if once I loved this world — 
Thy bitter words have sucked desire to live 
From all my senses. As a god I held thee, 
Now mocking gods bid me look on whilst thou 
Deport'st thyself 'neath mortal. Sir, what plague 
Hast met? What conjuration of the skies 
Disfigures thee? 

Kent. The same that made thyself 

A woman. Back unto your world! 

Mar. O, true 


I loved this life, and held a heart not dead 

To music, beauty, sweet and warm .delights. 

An interest in the season-robing earth, 

An entertained eye for fortune's chance. 

And too pretentiously I sighed to leave 

The unfollowed steps of fair and flying Truth, 

And last, poor woman, shrank to change thine arms 

For the cold circlet of Elysian clouds; 

But you, pervert and monstrous, work my peace. 

Unto my eyes deforming all the world 

And making the unknown more dear than dream. 

Kent. I monstrous? O, thou shame! To've died for 

Were scarcely more than's done each day for love; 
But I for you have heaped my name with crime. 
Crime that will damn my reputation's snow 
While lasts the world and men recount old tales! 

Mar. 'Twas for my sake you did it ! Ah, I know. 
You loved me well. Would you had known me better, 
Or loved me less! O, how couldst think my life 
Would flower with happiness when sacrifice 
Of one as dear to Heaven as myself 
Lay burning at its root? Nay, I must wither 
Unto this world, but as I fall thy name 
Grows fairer, for I have confessed 'twas I. 
For love of me you sinned. The punishment 
Is mine. 

Kent. Confessed? You have confessed? No, no! 

Mar. I shall be soon forgot, but your great name 
Will live, and since it must, or dark or bright, 
I would remove as much of foulness from it 
As blood of mine will cleanse. 

Kent. You have confessed! 

O, God of truth, let man trust to thy mercy. 
Not hope to cheat thy justice! You confessed? 


Already I was doomed, but you — ^you might 
Have lived. Ay, and you shall ! 

[Comes near her and sees that her hands are fettered] 

In fetters? You? 
By holy Heaven, though giants forged these on 
I'd strip them oflF! [Breaks her fetters] 

Mar, O, let me wear them, sir! 

My bond of blessedness — ^for I am blest 
In dying for your sin ! 

Kent. That word again? 

My sin? 

Mar. Forgive me, Hubert. 'Twas no sin. 
Indeed, 'twas none. For you were not yourself. 
'Twas madness. Heaven must forgive it thee. 

Kent. God help thee, Margaret! Wouldst say I did it? 

Mar. Not you, but heavy, secret woe that bred 
A demon in your blood to strike poor Glaia, — 
And too-dear love of me which vainly hoped 
To give me peace where never peace could be. 
O, look not so! At God's own throne 'twill be 
Forgiven thee, for surely thou wert tried 
As Heaven tries its own. 

Kent. Art mad at last? 

Thy crime confessed to all the world, and yet 
Denied to me, the only heart that knows? 

[She gazes at him, bewildered] 
Poor soul, her madness has been slow enough. 
Come, bruised darling, with thy blood-stained hands! 
Thou 'rt mine, my only love! [Embracing her. She 
moves from him] 

Mar, 'Tis you that speak 

Wild words. My blood-stained hands? They're free of 

As the pure angel's who writes golden down 
The saintliest deeds of men! 


KtfU, Whate'er thy words. 
Thine eye« are true, and there's no madness m them. 
Huti Margaret, I found thee by her side 

Mar. "IVas there I swooned 

Kent The dagger m thy hand 

Mar, Yes, in my hand, but, Hubert — ^hear me, Hubert! 
I Haw you come from Glaia's curtained bed, 
Hlow and dcHpairing. murmuring "She sleeps," 
Ah though you said she slept to wake no more. 
I entered, saw her pale, drew back the coverlet- 
There ran the stream that drained her beauty's rose — 
There lay your dagger — ^yours. And then I thought 
By <lying there to save your life and name. 
But fainted, O, too soon 

Kmt My heart, my heart! 

O, had I done such deed would I have left 
My dagger to confess it? Glaia called — 
Not 5K> — I dreamed she called — and going there, 
F<>uud her in deepest sleep — or thought I found 
Her so — and touched her not lest she should stir 
And know her woes again* 

Atwr. It was not you? 

Kmi. That question makes your tongue a dagger's 
Am) y^ my doubl of you was deeper wrong* 
Measuring aU the difference between 
Mai\ s gn>sser soul and wocoan s ahar4it. 
iX Margarets sonie ^^erpent heart planned well 
*l\> do this de^ and Wave the guilt with me. 

M^Mt. \YIh> — whck mv Hubert? Nav. it matters not. 
5S«Kr >was not wtt — not you! In two small words 
My heav^m is$^ boitt again! 

Kiml We neVr shall know. 

l\e R^ets^ enough and one of them perhaps 
$o {^oughl to ca:$t me deeper by this crune,. 


And we shall wear his foul and scarlet maris 
Even unto our graves, — ^for we must die. 

Mar, Enough that we die sinless. 

Kerd. O, my love, 

Who would have died for me! 

Mar, And you, dear lord, 

Who took such shame upon you for my sake ! 

Keni, Death was already on me, and 'twas naught 
To make addition to my guilt. But you. 
Your heart not pausing, leapt from safety's shore 
Into the flood. O, might I live for thee! 
A blessed bondman to thy merest wish. 
From hour to hour to watch thy graces bloom 
As various as Flora when she loves. 
And in each furrow of thy brow that writ 
Thee mortal set a new April mocking Time! 
Then when no more I could dispute his doom, 
Enter with thee a star-lit, sweet old age, 
The fane of rest, and sanctuary where 
All sorrows take their ease. 

Mar. Think thou of Heaven. 

Keni, But O, how dear this life! The immortal world 
Is shrunk to shadow of a single thought. 
And this contemned earth is sudden grown 
Past circumscription of the mind's fond eye. 
No-no — ^we must not die! 

Mar, Wouldst tremble now? 

When thou hast love beside thee? Nay, my lord, 
Be yet the man of men, whose virtue drew 
My wild resisting heart into its sun. 

Keni. O, must we leave it all? — ^the gracious earth 
Where we have loved, and heard the robins sing. 
And built our nest that song might never cease? 
Ah, I am weak, my sweet, and shine but in 
The doting tear that dims a true wife's eye. 


M(f/r> '^r{« uiit my love that pairitii^ thee radiant. 
Hut thy nwn light illumet^ my eyen to love. 
i ), loni of mine, the kingi^ of earth in vain 
May lM>|>e to he thy Mhmlowy parallel, 
Aim! where we go, in any eourt of air 
Or cloud or heaven, Mtill mu»t thou he the one 
K¥(^elling ntar. 

K0nh [(Ua»}m(j h^^r] Heart of the sun, heat here! 
C), thy iuiuiortal fiii^ will make Death warm 
Hiti he can Uiake thee eold. 

[The turnhy o/whh door at end of corridor] 

Mar, My life, my soul! 

Kmt (), (Joel! Celestial nmrshaller of chance 
To muue far end of good, let me believe 
Thy hand la hert\ and even on our heads. 
[The turnkej^ comes down] 
Ah, klsw me, kijw n^e, Ilt^ven s Margaret. 
(\udd I n\y life <Hmeentrate in one beat 
rd dwarf it jh^ ami give it in this kiss, 


Si^i^NK it A nH>»^ in IV mW of Albtmarle^s palace. A 
friary, ami th*f kinif im ffvjkt'^s dre^fs^ but uHcowted^ uraiiimg. 

Me?M. Ttu:* U <j^ tittup T\K>m twr DeathV cold jest; 
S^^ |xr^HKU>- hui^^ Mut tilled with eiutufort's chattels^ 
As tK^MJ^h its owner hoped k>u^ respite from 
A cUvvv b<\l Where is the tenant, ^ther? 

t^riijkr. ^^^11 ^'^iter ^vfesently, — ah, evea now. 

[tlc^Mry ^t^t/^' im cvu^. Hhh^ taJy Mbeimtrte^ bmartHg a 
^maU box which ^ Web to her bottom] 

£ik Mb. Father, hast brought the holy man? The saint 
Wbtptie^ {>n»yer may save tbae soul already viuxuwd. 

*>. <«ood daughtiHr 


La. Alb. Ha! Good devil! That were better! 
He's here? Well, send him back. I've changed my mind. 
I will not see him, — ^no, nor you! 

Fr. Farewell. 

La. Alb. Nay, do not go! Wouldst leave a soul in hell 
For humor of the tongue? 

\Friar returns to her] My soul? Pah, sir! 
You think a priest can save it? I want not 
Your prayers, but your good service to set right 
A wrong. Don't mumble over me! I speak 
Because I'm dying. Had I hope to live. 
Then right might shift for itself. And you call this 
Repentance! Pah! Who can keep mum when death 
Turns the last screw? You know the eari of Kent? 
My brother? 

Fr. Yes, my daughter. 

La. Alb. I know that 

Will make his peace with Henry — ^foolish king! 
I must go back to tell you — ^years and years. 
[Turns away as if musing] 

Fr. Speak, lady, in God's name. 

La. Alb. Ill tell you aU. 

But I'll not kneel. I've lived too much on knees. 
. . . See? Albemarle! He has as many bodies 
As he has wishes to keep spy on me. 
. . . He's gone, and did not speak. He never speaks. 
But there's a sort of beast sits in his heart 
That growls and I do hear it. 

Fr. Peace, good lady. 

La. Alb. Ah, good again. Foul, foul and villainous! 
Come here, thou holy man. To you I'll speak. 
Dost think that ever I was beautiful. 
And these long locks once bound a king to me? 

Hen. A king? 

La. Alb. Ay, royal John. A king indeed! 


Angel to me though devil to the world. 

None loved him but his Eleanor, — ^none, none! 

The rest were mistresses unto his throne. 

I gave my heart, he took me up to his. 

Ah, father, do you think that is my sin? 

That is my joy, my glory, my one pride. 

I'll ne'er repent it until I repent 

That e'er I smiled or felt myself alive. 

Repent? Nay, father, not till I believe 

That marble women are more dear to Grod 

Than we whose hearts are warm with the same love 

That beat in His when worlds leapt from His joy. 

Come back, O golden summer, when there dwelt 

Two happy beings in a magic wood. 

Treading not earth but soft enchantment's air, 

Until the beast came! There, do you not see him? 

Away, black Albemarle! O, mercy. Heaven! 

. . . Then there was Glaia, bud of our true love 

Hen. Glaia! 

La. Alb. O, happy I, when he my king 
Bent over me and said, "Sweet, she is ours!" 

Hen. My sister! 

La. Alb. What dost say? Thy sister? Ha! 
Base monk, I tell thee that her blood was royal 
As Henry's own! Ay, nobler! Who shall say 
My spirit leapt not o'er pale Isabel's? 

[Retreats to cotich by which is a small table. Puis box on 
table and lays her head upon it^ weeping] 

Hen. Then Glaia was my sister. Did you hear? 

Fr. I heard what I well knew before 
By my heart's guess, but had no proof of it. 

La. Alb. [Starting up] Hear, father! You've heard 
nothing yet. Last night 
I killed her. Do you hear? I killed her. 

Hen. O! 


La. Alb. You hear? Ay, for you gasp and mutter 
I thought to go and watch her while she slept, 
And walked a devil with me who held close 
A dagger — ^Hubert's — that's my brother, monk. 
Still, still, ye swirling fiends that in my brain 
Keep your hot dance! Be still! . . . She lay asleep, 
Pain in her heart and beauty on her brow; 
Her curls — ^her father's curls — ^around her face. 
One fell upon my wrist — ^and see, a bum. 
As though its gold were fire. She turned to me. 
And murmured as her father did in sleep; 
Then in my hand the knife arose, and fell. 
And as my brain rocked sick I heard him say. 
My lover, bending o'er me, "She is ours." 


Hen. And then? 

La. Alb. What next I know not, but I think 
Some cunning led me to conceal the deed 
And make escape. I left the dagger there. 
'Twas Hubert's. You had best be quick, or harm 
Will come to him. The world is such a fool! 
But wait — O, wait till I am dead! I am 
A coward bom, and life has bred me such. 
Hark! Albemarle is coming! Lock the door! 
[Runs to the table and takes up the box] 
Look — ^in this box — my lover's letters — see! 
I have the key. I'll give it to the devil. 
And Albemarle may look for it in hell. 
O, I am dying! Hide them for me, priest. 
My letters from my king. I'll bum them all. 
Nay, nay, sweet, pretty words, lie down with me.* 
Together we'll grow cold. Ye'd fire enough, 
God wot! [Lies on coux:h] 

Glaia is dead. Be quiet now. 


Hast heard I was her mother? There's a secret — 
No — ^no — ^I must not speak it — ^but 'twill out 
By doomsgate, so they say. You are a priest; 
Canst tell how far 'tis from the grave to hell? 
You think they'll let me lie a little first 
And see how 'tis to sleep? 'Tis a long walk, 
I'll lie quite still, and give no trouble — ^none. 


Hen, Help! Something to revive her. 

Fr. It were vain. 

Earth has not such restorative. 

Hen. Not dead? 

Fr. The heavenly amaranth alone can dew 
Her brow with life. 

Hen. O, Hubert! What am I? 

Let me crawl to thy feet, cast off my crown 
As I cast off this cowl, and lie in dust 
Before thee ! O, too late ! [To friar] 

'Tis as you guessed. 
And each confessed in sacrificial love 
Hoping to save the other. Tell me now 
Who plays the angel here? 

Fr. My liege, one who 

Would not be here but that he fears no death. 
[Removes his cowl] 

Hen. Roland! 

Wynne. My king ! 

Hen. Not king, but friend. 

And equal in this woe. Rise! 'Tis no time 
To kneel. What must we do? Now Margaret 
Is safe — but Hubert? Even now they doom him. 
Barons and church are leagued to prove him guilty. 
Nor have I power against their proof to pardon 
And keep my throne. 

Wynne. Take courage. Thou art king. 


Hen. To th' tower then. If majesty is yet 
A word of might, well dare them all. 

Wynne. Now speaks 


Hm. Ill be the king! 

Wynne, You fill my heart 

With singing prophecies. 

Hen. But first well give 

An order for the noble burial 
Of this poor woman. Glaia's mother, Roland. 
She called me brother, and would have it so. 
Ah, little sister, did the angels tell you? 
You lived so much with them. . . . 'Twas I who killed her. 
My very hand, and not this poor mad woman's. 
I slew them both. Oh, oh, oh! 

Wynne. Dear my lord. 

Leave grief unto the grave, that it best decks; 
The living call us now. 

Hen. You talk so, sir. 

Who did not love her. 

Wynne. O, my lord! 

Hen. You did. 

Forgive me, friend, that I forgot your heart. 

Wynne. If constancy past sacrifice of hope 
Is love, I loved her, sire. If to be true 
To every wish that rises from her grave 
Is love, I love her still. But you, my liege. 
Cloud your fidelity, wasting in. tears 
The moments now devoted by the stars 
To rescue one she loved. 

Hen. Shame me no more. 

Well give an order here, then to the tower! 


Scene 1. The council chamber in the Tower of London. 
Barons and prelates assembled. Archbishop of Canter- 
bury presiding. Princess Adelais present, aMended by 
several French nobles and her women. She advances 
before the archbishop. 

Ade. Ye peers of England, and ye men of God, 
Humbly I make my suit. Not as a princess 
With vassal pomp and power to awe the eye 
And judgment take fore-captive, though a score 
Of buried kings have dowered me with veins 
Of high regality; nor sue I with 
The holy potency of Heaven's pontiflF, 
Though his own mouth would speak if I were silent, 
As speak the skies when tempests chasten earth. 
But here, my lords, a lonely woman kneels; 
A weary mother weeping her lost son. 
You know how all my better years were spent 
In that daric wild where wander minds dethroned. 
When the dear world came back to me, my cry 
Was for my babe — no more a babe, but up 
To manhood shot as in a single hour. 
And as the hunger takes some starving wretch. 
Desire upon me seized to know his love. 
And on his breast to die. My lords, mayhap 
I am as old as is the oldest here. 
But O, so poor in time. I've but that youth, 



Brief youth that held its morning roses up 
And fled, and this bare, aged now that drops 
But aching moments till I've found my son. 

Cant. Rise, royal Adelais! Believe that we 
Have hearts of men, and know the love of mothers. 
But to give back your son belongs to Him 
Whose voice doth open graves and call the dead. 

Ade, My heart cries that he lives! O, he was here 
Five years ago — ^five little years. Why, 'twas 
But yesterday! This letter tells you, sirs. 
"Brave and right royal. Great Henry's worthy son." 
This letter from the man who guarded him, 
Greoffrey de Burgh, an honest, good old man. 
And faithful to his king. He could not have 
A son so cruel as to kill my son. 
Or rob the world of what did so adorn it 
And yet none know. 

Cant In grief I say 'tis so; 
And England lies in shame that her chief lord, 
Raised to administer her vaunted justice. 
Should prove so base, so foul, that 

Ade, O, my lord, 

He must be nobler than you think, else would your king 
Lift him so high? — make him his friend. 
And with an earldom top his risen fortune? 
May be he overcapped too many whom 
His guilt would please more than his innocence. 

Card. We've given him fair and open trial. Urged him 
In name of Grod and England to declare 
His knowledge of the precious living charge 
His father left to him. But he is brazen 
In flat denial. 

Ade. O, your eminence, 

May I not see him? Let me plead for truth 
With a poor mother's tears. 


Cant. You will but hear 

The unblushing lie which we have sought to spare you. 

Ade. O, let me see him! 

Cant. Kent, step forth and tell 

This suffering princess what you will. 

Kent. [Coming oni from guards] Dear madam. 
Your tears are suitors to my pity 

Ade. Henry ! 

Kent. Each drop a supplicant that I would ease 
Were such sweet power mine. But, by my soul. 
And by the mother's love I never knew 
Though dreamed on, I am innocent of blood. 
Nor did I ever see or know your son. 

Ade. Ah, I have found him, lords! O, you old men. 
If any here be old, do you not hear 
The mighty Henry speak in this young voice? 
My grandsire, Louis, bends that brow on me. 
That eye has flashed such light from 'neath a crown. 
[To Kent] Be not amazed; thou art my only bom. 
Thy mother's heart could not so falsely beat 
As to deny thee! England, be glad with me! 

Count de Rouillet. O, pity. Heaven! She is mad agidn. 

Win. Take her away. 

Ade. Away? When I have found him? 
By those blest stars that drew my feet to his, 
I'll not go hence till he may go with me ! 

Kent. Dear lady, go. Ill come to thee in time. 

Ade. I am thy mother. Wilt not call me so? 
I've cleared my vision with a sea of tears 
And can not be deceived. 

Cant. Wouldst call a villain son? A man condenmed? 
Whose headsman waits even now? 

Ade. What has he done? 

Grod does not lie, and 'twas his hand that writ 
This countenance to mark a noble mind. 


And not to be a villain's fair decoy. 

Ah, murder him, but the same axe will strike 

My life away, for never shall he go 

From out my arms! 

One of her women. Come, dearest lady. 

Win. Ay, 

She must depart. [To Rouillel\ Pray, lead her oflF, my lord. 
She interrupts the court. 

Ade. You'd force me, sir? 

Ah, true, I am in England. O, my lords, 
I beg you let me stay! Ill not disturb you. 
But sit as quiet as the stone I am. 

[Takes a seat. Her women attend her] 
You see, my lords, I'm calm. I have no son. 

Win. [To Canterbury] This time is poorly spared. 
Pray you, proceed. 

Cant. Hear then your sentence, Hubert, earl of Kent, 
And Margaret, his wife, stand forth with him. 
Unto the block you both shall go forthwith 

A guard at door. The king ! 

Win. The king? The doors are closed to all! 

Hen. [Entering] All but the king, lord bishop. Margaret, 
I bring a gift — ^your freedom. Ah, you sinned 
When you confessed your guilt, but not before. 
Our dearest Glaia died not by your hand. 
Nor yet by Kent's. First, lords, know you 
The maiden was the daughter of my father — 
Ay, ay, there's proof. She was the child of John 
And a fair lady of his court and ours. 
Who, dying, made confession to her priest- 

Win. A priest ? We know, my lord and king, that priests 
Oft sell reports unto the devil's purse. 

Hen. That from a churchman? 

Win. Would an honest priest 

Betray confession? 


Hen, This was given, sir, 

For open use in Kent's defence. In short, 
I was that priest, my lord, and played the monk 
To better purpose than I've played the king. 

Card. Your majesty 

Hen. Is pleased to speak, your grace . 

This then, my lords, proves Kent had holy reason 
For thwarting my vain love. 

Alb. Could this be true 

And Kent not speak when a bare word had saved him? 

Hen. Have you been home to-day, my lord? 

Alh. My liege. 

Since mom I've ridden hard, and was much pushed 
To arrive in season for the trial. 

Hen. What news 

From north? 

Alh. 'Twas south I rode, your majesty. 
About my shore estates. 

Pem. Sire, I informed you 

Hen. Ay, so. 

Alh. What should I do at home, my liege? 

Hen. Comfort your lady, who fast droops to death. 

Alh. My wife? But she was well when I. set forth. 

Hen. You'll find her changed! But we must speak 
of Kent. 
My lords, he was close pledged not to betray 
The maiden's parentage for this good reason. 
Her mother was his sister, living in dread 
Of her harsh present lord, and she besought. 
Past power to resist, his oath to die 
Ere he should make it known. I know not who 
Of you would prove so true to oaths if death 
Lay in the keeping, or what hearts are here 
Would drain themselves to guard a sister's life. 

Cant. Who is this sister, sire? 


Alb. This shows that kings 

May even be duped like poorer men. Ail know 
That Kent's sole sister is my countess. 

Hen. Sir, 

We've no mind to deny you. It is she 
We mean, — ^the lady Albemarle. 

[Albemarle staggers] 

Pern. My lord 

Alb. Air! Stand from me! Give way! I must be gone! 

Hen. We must command you stay. 

Alb. This air is poison! 

Hen. Stay, sir! 

Alb. I say not to the king 'tis false. 
But to each British lord who hears I swear 

Hen. My ears, sir, registered 
Her last confession, that 'twas her hand struck 
Her daughter's heart, her child and John's. 

Alb. Let go! 
It was her malady that spoke. Ill to her 
And rival death in tortures! God, I will 

Hen. Death has outstripped you, sir. Her breath is 

Alb. Then 111 inflict her body till her ghost 
Comes back to shriek in it! 

Hen. You're yet too late. 

We've given orders for her due interment 
As mother of our sister. 

Alb. Ha! My servants! 
You guard my house? 

Hen. We do, my lord. 

Win. [Aside to Canterbury] Haste, sir, 

Or Kent will yet escape. 

Cant. Your majesty. 

The lady Margaret, thanks to Heaven and you. 


Is now at liberty, but the life of Kent 
Is forfeited. He must at once to doom. 

Hen, Already sentenced, sir? You're hasty reaching 
Your black conclusion. Stay a little 

Card. Sire, 

We moved with deference, respecting him 
Who for a time had lived within your bosom. 
To longer stay his death would tempt the skies 
To draw their mercy from us, seeing it were 
So basely used. Guards here for Kent! 

Hen. O, stay 

One moment, please your eminence. My lord 
Of Winchester, I'd see again the papers 
First gave excuse to put this guilt on Kent. 

Win. And here they are, my liege. 

\Gives him papers] 

There you will read 
Of the great trust consigned by Henry Second 
To Geoffrey de Burgh, and by him to his son. 
As Adelais brings proof. 

[Enter Wynne, carrying a small box] 

Wynne. Your majesty 

Hen. [Reading] Your patience ! Presently we'll hear you. 

Pern. What! 

The lord of Wynne returned? 

Alb. Returned! I doubt 

If he has seen salt water. 

Pern. But I hope 

He has not bent a wizard's eye upon 
Our secrets. 

Hen. Hear, my lords, this paper given 
By dying Pembroke to our Winchester, 
Signed, ay, and written, by our grandsire king. 
[Reads] " And for we know that envious ills assail 
The nobly bom when not by wedlock blest " 


Win. Nay — 'tis not that! My lord, I beg — ^it is 
The other paper! 

Hen. [Reading] "Till he be a man 
And cast a weighty spear, let him be called 
De Burgh, and known as GreoflFrey's son- 

Win. Hear me- 

Hen. Peter des Roches, here's matter for your death. 
Which at your humble suit we'll moderate 
To banishment. 

Win. O, blasted be this hand 

Wynne. Curse not the imlucky hand that bared thy sin. 
For we have other proof of Kent's high birth. 
Within this box where lady Albemarle 
Treasured the tokens from her kingly love, 
I found a paper of another tenor, — 
A letter from her father, old De Burgh, 
To be delivered at his death to one 
Called Hubert, his supposed son, wherein 
He tells him of his birth and bids him claim 
Name and estate as his great father willed. 
You know the words, my fallen Winchester, — 
"" Rockingham, Harle, Beham and Fotheringay, 
•With strongest Bedford as his ducal seat." 
This letter, as we know, was kept from Kent, 
And where 'twas found best tells the why thereof. 

Ade. {Rising] Who will deny me now? Must I keep still. 
Ye lords of England? Have I yet your leave 
T' embrace my son? 

Kent. [Crossing to her] We'll ask no leave, my mother. 
Do dreams take flesh, and prayers become alive? 
For I have dreamed and prayed to see your face. 
Though but in vision, thinking you in Heaven; 
And all my life your voice like far off singing 
Has followed me. Sometimes it seemed 'twould near 
If I might wait in silence, wooing it. 


But life that waits no longing pushed me on 
With the old loss new in my heart. 

Ade. My son! 

My only son! O, twice thou'rt bom to me! 

Kent, And I must double yet thy joy, for see 
Thy daughter too. [Presents Margaret] 

Mar. [To Adelais] If thou wilt call me so. 

[Adelais embraces Margaret] 

Hen. Those castles, Albemarle, which were your boast. 
Must now revert to their right lordly owner. 
The earl of Kent. 

Alb. Take them, my liege, take all. 

But leave me this good sword which I would wear 
As your most loyal subject. 

Hen. Nay, my lord. 

Your service past but illy recommends you. 
You are our prisoner. Guards for Albemarle! 

Alb. What does this mean? You cast your crown by 

Hen. It means, proud man, you are a traitor proved. 
You galloped hard last night, and 'twas to death. 
Those troops you called on pretence to avenge 
The death of Kent will be by Kent commanded. 

Alb. [To Wynne] 'Tis you who've brought this hell 
upon me, villain ! 

Hen. By your good patience, he is not a villain! 
I know not all his merit, but enough 
To make him my chief general ; asking first 
His guard against this plotting Poitevin — 
This unfrocked bishop — should he e'er attempt 
To make new friends and land upon our shores. 

Wynne. Sire, in my arms hell find a barrier 
High as the devil scaled to enter Heaven. 

Alb. [To Pembroke] Be lightning in my cause, if you 
would save me! 


Pem. I go at once to raise what power I can. 
Hen. Out, guards, with Albemarle, and keep him close 
Till he go forth to death. 
[Eodt Albemarle under guard. Pembroke is hurrying aid] 
Stay, Pembroke. You 
Have been too close his brother. 'Tis a pity 
To sever you in death, but for the sake 
Of your great father dead we're lenient 
And banish you the kingdom. 
Pem. Sire, I go. 

Hen. [To officer] Follow him, sir, and see him straight- 
way shipped. 

[Exit officer] 
Now Kent may ask and have. What gift shall speak 
My great aflFection? What thy dearest wish? 

Kent. Let him not ask for more, who has the love 
Of Margaret, his mother, and his king. 





ADRIAN LAVROV, the Shepherd of Lonz 

PETER VETROVA, an old peasant 

CATHERINE, Vetrava's wife 

VASIL, grandson of Peter and Catherine 

VERA, sister to VasiL 

KORELENKO, betrothed to Vera 



ANNA, ULIANA, neighbors to the Vetrovas 

GREGORIEF, an ex-prisoner 

GALOVKINE, a doctor 

MANUEF, a student 

COLONEL ORLOFF, of the Czar's army 


Soldiers, revolutionists, peasants, d:c. 

Scene: A peasant home in Russia 
Time: June, nineteen hundred and five 

Note. — ^The song episode in Act U is adapted from "The Green 
Book," by Maurus Jokai. 


Scene 1. A room in Peter Vetrova^s cottage. Door opens 
centre rear into a little yard beyond which is the vUla^e 
street. Centre rights door into Lavrov's room. Right 
second entrance leads to kitchen and garden. Between 
the two doors right a large brick stove whitewashed and 
at present urnised. Shelf above stove. A loom stands 
in right hand comer rear. A window in rear wall 
between loom and door. Before window a small table on 
which are stvdent*s books and papers. On left side of 
door a smaUy rude cabinet is built in the wall about six 
feet from floor. A wide bench stands under cabinet. A 
small high window in left wall. Near fronts very high 
up on wall lefty hangs a half length portrait of the 

A table left of centre. Bench before loom. Two or three 
stoolsy one or two plain chairs; and a larger chair^ of 
peasant make^ near table centre. 

Glimpses of grass and a fruit-tree in bloom seen through 
open door and window rear. 

Vetrova discoveredy making bark shoes. Catherine sits 
near him in the large chairy sewing. Vera at loom. 
VasU in door rear wUh violin. He ceases playing as 
curtain rises. 

Vetrova. That brings back young days, mother. 
Catherine. The summer is getting into your head, 



Vet. My heels too. If the boy plays any more I shall 
forget my broken bones and be off to the forest. 

Vaail. m keep on forever if I can play your crutch 
away, grandfather. 

Caih. [Hastily, as Vasil raises the bow] No! Enough 
for to-day. 

Vera. [To her self y as she weaves] Rags — rags — rags! O, 
if I could make some of those beautiful things I saw at the 
bazaar! [Softly] Or just a sweet white coverlet for me 
and Sasha. [Turns from the loom to the others] 

VasU. [Who has crossed to Catherine] If I can please 
but one it shall be you, little grandmother. 

Vera, [Running to Vetrova, and sitting on his knee] 
And if / could please but one it should be you, little grand- 

Cath. [Removing VasiVs arm from her shoulder] There, 
go to your book, lad. The Shepherd will be coming 

VasU, [Smiling] I am ready for him. [Crosses to small 
tabu rear, sits by it, and begins studying. Vera follows him, 
and they look over the book together, Vasil explaining. Vera 

Vet. [Takmg up his toork] I wish you loved the music, 
Catherine. It msJces things different somehow . . . while 
it lasts. 

Caih. Tis your spirit, Petrovich. You were never like 
the rest of us. The others caUed you queer, but I knew it 
was just spirit. 

VeL Eh — yes, Don*l you remember the gypsy ring in 
the forest forty-five years 

Cath. How you talk, Petrusha! Tls evfl times [looks 
guardedly at the young people] and we are dd. 

Vei. Yes . . . dd. We may gather acorns in the 
woods, mother, but we shall never find any more flowers. 
Well enough. The trees would grow wrinkled with 


laughter to see an old man dancing beneath them. Eh 
— yes, let him stoop, and pick up brush. 

Cath. [Comfortingly] We have the children, Petrusha. 

Vet. [SzUlerUy] We had their father and mother, too. 

Cath. We've fared better than others. We've always 
had our home. 

Vet. Because you served in the barin's house and the 
mistress liked you. Just chance! And then the barin 
died and Travinski got hold of everything. 

Cath. But the Shepherd came. 

Vet. Another chance! Life oughtn't to owe itself to 
that. It isn't living. Those two awful years before the 
Shepherd came — ^when Andrei died — ^they were real. A 
part of what is. We were like our neighbors then. Yes. 
[Stops talking cw Vera crosses to her grandmother] 

Vera. [Leaning ajfectionaiely against Catherine] How 
you must love Vasil, grandmanmia, to make him an em- 
broidered blouse out of a piece of your best blanket! 

Cath. He is leaving us, my child. 

Vera. You said I should have this if I married Alex- 

Cath. Perhaps these bad times will be over then, and 
we may be able to get something new. 

Vera. O, these bad times! They will never be over.. 
I've been waiting for that ever since I was bom. 

Cath. And we waited before you, child. 

Vera. [Repentant] I didn't mean it, grandmamma! 
Can't I help you make the blouse? But it may not be the 
fashion in Berlin. I will ask Sasha what the students 
wear. [Takes up a piece of the stuff] And how can you 
sew on winter things in summer time? Winter is so far 
away, — ^a thousand years away. Vasil will never live till 
winter time. 

Cath. [Shocked] Vera! 

Vera. Well, you know he can't live a thousand years. 


Cath, Why does winter seem so far oflF, dear? 

Vera, O, I don't know. [A slight paiise] Alexander says 
we can not be married before winter. 

Cath. [Smiling and laying down her wcyrk"] Do you love 
him so much? [Vera buries her face in her grandmother's 
lap] And he is right, dear. You should wait a long time. 
What can a young man do now? Eveiything is uncertain. 
Nothing is sure but hunger and children. 

Vera. [Looking up] Isn't it the strangest thing in the 

Cath. What, dear? 

Vera. That he should love me. 

Cath. And that you should love him? 

Vera. O, no! I couldn't help loving Aim/ 

Cath. [Shaking her head and taking up her work] My 
thread, child. I left it in the kitchen. 

[Eorit Vera, second entrance, right] 

Vet. [Looking after her] She is like her mother, Cath- 

Cath. Yes . . . dear Polya. I thought she was going 
to have a wilful heart, but she is just a woman. 

Vet. [Moodily] I wish they were both with their parents 
in the only safe place in Russia, the grave. 

Cath. [Looking at V<isi[\ Hush! He will be safe enough 
soon. The Shepherd is good to send him away, and he so 
poor himsdf. Buy him from the army, and all. 

Vet. Send an innocent lad out of his own country to be 

CaA. He is to be a musician as wdl as a scludar. Beriin 
is the place. The Shepherd knows. He could not keep 
out of trouUe at our universities. You know what you 
were in your youth, Pelrovich. 

Vet. I wanted to be a scludar too. But they beat me 

Cath. You have been a good peasant. You might have 


been a poor scholar. And we have had the teachers. 
Don't you remember the first night-class in our cottage, 
and the noble's daughter who wore peasant clothes and 
taught grown men to read? That was thirty years ago. 

Vet. And she went to Kara f or it • • . to the mines 
... for teaching men to read. 

Cath. But others came. 

Vet. And went ... as she did. 

Cath. God bless them! We can all read our Bibles 
now. And the lad is going to a university. 

Vet. 'Tis far, Berlin. I am old. TTie Shepherd is 
needed everjrwhere. He may go any time. Vasil ought 
to stay with his sister. 

Cath. She has Alexander. 

Vet. How long will he keep out of prison with that big 
heart and hot head? 

Cath. God will protect her. 

Vet. As he did her mother! Yes. 

Cath. You are hardening your heart, Petrovich. [Turns 
toward icon, crossing herself] 

Vera. [Re-entering] Grandmamma! [Stands in door] 

Cath. The thread, child. 

Vera. O, I forgot. Uliana is in the kitchen. 

Cath. [Rising quickly] Uliana! 

Vera. It's bad news, I'm afraid. She keeps wiping her 
eyes pretending she isn't. 

Cath. Did she tell you anything? 

Vera. No, grandmanmia. I couldn't make her. 

[Catherine hurries across to kitchen entrance. Vetrova 
takes up his crutch and hobbles after her] 

Cath. [Sternly] Stay with the children, Petrovich. [Exity 
closing door behind her] 

Vera. [Opening door for Vetrova] Go on, grandfather. 
[Laughs and kisses him] Are you afraid? I promise you 
Vasil and I will stay here. She wants you, I know. 


Vd. [Uflh^herdiml A ^ood cUkL bflt Iod pactlr^ too 

VenL {Twrms md UA* tA Vaml, who » lAmwiei m lug 
hook. Cnm» I0 kimi\ Vaal? 

V<uriL \L(0skimg mp rdmdamtbf\ Ten pa^^ bcvond 
AdfMo'f maik. He viB be pleaMfrf- 

FVroL If tliefe ao^UMig jon Eke betla- than to plesse 

Foira. {UMemimg^ Who is in tibe kitditxi? 

VaM. And you doot want to hear the g<Hsq>? 

F«r». No. I want to star with yon. [GviZf/iifly] Yoa 
aie f/m% ^wzj^ j4m know. 

Fomf. [Rising] Thwe may be news from 

Vera. Don^ go! I promised, 

Vaml. Then it is from Petoff . 

F^a. Adrian doesnt want yoa to hear about such 

VasU. [Sitting down] Havent I ears and eyes? They 
tbiiik I don't know . . . but see here. [Takes up a tabUi] 
You may read it. Vera. [She glances over iablet\ I wrote 
it tbts morning. 

Vera. It is gay and sad too. But it is not like a June 
song* There are no birds and flowers in it. 

Vasil. Don't you know who the ** Summer Maid" is. 

Vera, Summer herself, isn't she? 

Vasil. No, stupid. She is Freedom — ^liberty. 

Vera. O, Vasil! And the old, dead Winter is 

VasU. Yes, the Czar. 

Vera. O, I'm afraid! Let me bum it, Vasil. 

VasU. [Taking it from her] No. 

Vera. Suppose somebody should find it — a spy? 

VasU. He wouldn't understand it. You didn't your- 


Vera. But I'm a stupid. 

VasU. [Catching her in his arms] Aie you, little sister? 

Vera. Let me have it, Vasil. 

VasU. [Tears sheet from tablet^ folds it and puts it into 
his pocket] No. It's as safe as any piece of paper. 

Vera. Adrian won't like it. He says your mind must 
be free from — ^all that. Free for what, Vasil? We want 
to be free only to do things. 

VasU. [Laying his hand on his book] For this, — ^and 
this [softly touching his violin], — and this. [Lifting his 

Vera. O, what a slave! You will have three masters. 
I want to be free too, but not for such things. I want to 
make Sasha happy. 

FonJ. A woman's freedom. Free to wear fetters. Have 
you seen him to-day? 

Vera. No, but 

Vasil. What? And the sim so high? 

Vera. I am waiting for him now. I shall tease him 
about the great man who fell in 1 e with me at the bazaar. 

VasU. Who was it wanted to make Sasha happy? 

Vera. He ought to be glad that such a splendid officer 
even looked at me! 

VasU. And were you glad. Vera? 

Vera. No. I ran away. 

VasU. What did Madam Kor^o say to that? 

Vera. [As Korelenko enters unseen by her] She said she 
would never take me again, and I told her I didn't care, 
I was going to marry Sasha, who was finer than any officer 
in the world. 

Vaml. Good-morning, Alexander Korelenko. 

Vera. [Whirls about and sees Alexander] Now I can't 
tease him! [VasU returns to his book] 

Korelenko. About what, little bird? 

Vera. O, I found a new lover at the bazaarf 



Kore. [Smilingj I told Madam Korego it would never 
do to take you. 

Vera. A fine gentleman, all covered with gold lace. 

Kore. And he gave you a piece to weep over when you 
are only poor little madam Korelcnko? 

Vera. A very great man — General Petrizoff ! 

Kore, [Starting furion^lif] Has that— has he looked at 
you? \Walks from lier] 

Vera, [Imploring] Sasha! 

Kore, [Turning back to k^r] My little one! I*m a jealous 
fool ! He will not hunt out you, poor little you. [Holds 
her to kim^ arid sfmke^'^ a clenched pit behind her back, 
Adrian eTttem by street door and goes up to Korelenko] 

Adrian, Yoo would hold love in your heart and hate 
in your hand, Alexander? 

Vera. [Freeing herself] O, Adrian! [Takes his hoi and 
stick] You are tired. I will bring you some tea. 

Adr. No, little sister. Lay the table in the gardco. It 
makes one hungry to walk from Pctoff. 

Vera. So far! Sit down» you bad little brother! 
[Leads him to the large chair, and goes toward kitchen] In 
three minutes ! [Listens at door and says softly] Uliana is 
gone. [Exit] 

Kore. What of Petoff ? 

Adr, [Looks about and sees Vasil at his book] Vasil, lad, 
a cup of water from the garden well. The roads are un- 
usually dusty for the first of June. 

[Exit Vasil, kitchen way] 

Kore, You are wTong, Adrian. It is time for him to 
know man's work. This is not a day for dreamers. 

Adr. For dreamers, no, — but a dreamer, yes. Can we 
not spare one to step out of the days to a place in the ages? 
We shall die, indeed, if there is none to sing us. 

Kore. He must know his theme then. 

Adr, He shall know it, — when he knows art so well that 


life can not tempt him to die. I will save his youth, his 
enthusiasm, and then ... he may please himself. 

Kore. No use. Our prisons are full of buried enthu- 
siasms. He must take his fate with the rest of us. This 
is the worid, not a fairy's cockle-shell. You can't save 

. Adr. I must. In him Heaven has given me back my 
own youth. I shall not surrender it a second time. 

Kore, He belongs to himself, and he will soon find out 
that he is a man and a Russian. But PetoflF? What did 
you find there? 

Adr, Despair, desolation, death. That is all they have 
gained by revolt. 

Kore, No! They have gained the name of men. To 
have submitted to be stripped and turned bleeding under 
the skies would have proved them lower than beasts. 
[Enter Vetrova^ righU with cup of water] 

Vet. I begged the cup of Vasil. Let me die when I can 
not serve Adrian Lavrov. 

Adr. [Advancing to him and taking the cwp] Thank you, 
Petrovich. I would rather serve you. [Drinks] 

Vet. Are we safe, Adrian Lavrov? Is Lonz at peace? 

Adr. Yes, Petrovich. I have Prince Travinski's word 
that we shall not be molested so long as we are patient 
under the law. 

Kore. The law? Underrobbery and therod! Patience 
under the foot of your master! 

Adr. The slave can always rise above the master by for- 
giving him. Go among our neighbors, Petrovich, and let 
them know they need fear nothing while they themselves 
keep the peace. 

Vet. Heaven, and the Shepherd of Lonz, be praised! 
[Places cup on table and goes aid street door] 

Kore. You saw Travinski? How did you manage it? 
He has steadily refused to see any one from the people. 


Adr. And he refused to see me at first, but as I was 
coming away I met a lady who interceded for me. 

Kore. His daughter? The princess Sophie? 

Adr. No. Sophie Remon. One of the Bed Cross 

Kore, Bemon? I don't know her. 

Adr, Her district is farther north, but she comes here 

Kore, She must have great influence. 

Adr. Yes. I was surprised to meet her in the palace. 

Kore, Naturally. In the enemy's camp. A spy on one 
aide or the other. 

Adr. [Sternly] I, too, was in the palace, Korelenko. 

Kore, [Looking at him closely^ after a surprised start] 
All right. I suppose she explained her presence there. 

Adr. I asked nothing. She is probably a friend of the 

Kore, I hope not. She can^ be her friend and yours 

Adr, Why not? 

Kore, I learned to-day thai the princess Sophie is <me 
of IVtrizaff'a spies. She has a wager with him, a luck- 
piece against a tiara, that she wiU secure evidence to oxi- 
vict you. 

Adr, Petrizoff need not be at so much trouUe. He can 
imprison me without evidence whad he pleases. 

Kore, Not you. That may do for othar poor deviK 
but you have friends all over Russia. It would make too 
much ol a stir ev^oi for Petrizoff. He would have to show 

the papers 

[Re-enter Vera^ right] 

Vera. Have you fwrgotten you were hungry? 

Adr, Come> Sasha. 

[They go oui^ right, vnth Vera^ as Vetrova and p r im c ^ss 
S(yphie Trennnski appear at street door. She wears ft 


long gray ulster marked with a red cross, and a plaiuy 
drooping hoi with veil] 

Sophie. Thank you, sir. I might have missed the 

Vet. [As they enter] Bless you, no! There's not a child 
in the village out of its cradle that couldn't tell you where 
the Shepherd lives. 

Soph. [Looking about the room] And he lives here? 

Vet. As I've told you, lady, — ^with me, old Vetrova. 
Ten years since he came in at that door to be a sou to me 
and Catherine. 

Soph. He has lived here ten years? 

Vet. Not all of that, for he is often called away. But 
he always comes back. 'Tis never too far to come back. 
[Draws up the large chair] Will you sit here, madam? 

Soph. You have a granddaughter? [Sitting] 

Vet. Little Vera, — and a grandson, too. Twins, though 
not a bit alike, as you may see for yourself before you go. 
'Twas Vasil, my grandson, who brought the Shepherd to 
us. He was just seven years old then, and a fine lad. We 
can say that about our grandchildren, ma'am. The Shep- 
herd loved him at first sight, and a father he's been to him 
ever since. His own father, my Andrei, died under the 
rod one bad year when taxes couldn't be paid, and his wife 
— ^the little mother — died too when they brought him in. 
She dropped like that. But we don't tell the children. 
They'll not have to dig up graves for trouble. [Qoing right] 
111 let the Shepherd know you are here. 

Soph. [In sudden confusion] Wait — I mean — ^yes — ^tell 
him I am here. 

Vet. 'Tis luck you have found him at home, for these 
bitter days keep him at work. Shall I tell him your name, 

Soph. Sophie Remon. 

[Eocii Vetrova] 


Soph. His home! What a place! But I could kned 
here. [Rises and walks nervously^ but becomes suddenly 
composed at sound of a step. Eider Adrian, right. He 
stands reservedly at some distance from her] 

Adr. May I help you this time? But I hope it is not 
trouble of yoiu* own that brings you. 

Soph. No. 

Adr. Then I am glad to see you again. We had so 
little time this morning, and my surprise was so great when 
I recognized you 

Soph. You knew me? 

Adr. I should know you anywhere. 

Soph. But you will keep my secret? It is important. 
No one must suspect that I am Sophie Travinski. 

Adr. [Starts] Ah! ... I did not know 

Soph. You said you recognized me! 

Adr. As Sophie Remon. We had not met for some 

Soph. O 

Adr. But have no fear, your highness 

Soph. [Approaching and offering her hand] Not to 
you. To you I am still the same. 

Adr. [Not seeing her hand] Let me thank you again for 
being my kind divinity this morning. 

Soph. I did nothing. 

Adr. Everything. The people are crazed out of their 
dulness. They fear new, unknown horrors. I did not 
know what might happen; but the assurance of Prince 
Travinski will renew their endurance. That was what I 
needed — ^his word. 

Soph. [Uneasily] You can not need it. You who have 
such power over the people. TTis not because Travinski 
said it but because you repeat it that they believe. You 
are a great man, Adrian Lavrov. 


Adr. \&miling\ Not great enough to be flattered as great. 

Sopfe. O, I have seen — [checks herself, changing her 
words] men with men, and I know a king from a subject. 

Adr. Then you are wiser than I. But what is your 
wish, your highness? You say you have not come for 

Soph. No. For Vera Vetrova. She is in danger. 

Adr. Vera? How can such a child be in danger? 

Soph. You ask that in Russia? 

Adr. She lives at home — she goes nowhere. 

Soph. Where was she yesterday? 

Adr. I was away all day. 

Soph. And Vera was in Yaltowa, at the bazaar to 
raise funds for the wounded. 

Adr. I remember now. Madam Korego asked per- 
mission to take her. 

Soph. She is not a wise woman. 

Adr. What has happened? 

Soph. Petrizoff saw her. You know the man he is. 

Adr. Yes— O 

Soph. She escaped him, but madam was pleased to 
give all information. 

Adr. What can I do? Where will she be safe? 

Soph. Not in the Czar's dominions. Petrizoflf 

Adr. I know! Something must be done at once. I 
must think! 

Soph. I have already thought. Will you trust me? 

Adr. [Gazing at her] Absolutely. 

Soph- O, thank you! 

Adr. You have a plan? 

Soph. A friend of mine leaves for Odessa to-morrow 
to embark for America. Vera can travel with her, taking 
her maid's passport. She will be safe until to-morrow. 
The oflBcers' ball, and some other matters, will keep Pet- 


nmff occofied. I win amnge er^eiTtfaing and aesid for 
her in tlie marniiig. 

Adr. Poor fitde giii ! It will be hard for her, and her 
graadparents aj>e very feeble. Dear old Petrovidi! It 
will Idll him to lose his daiiing. 

Soph. [With eoncnloi anxiety] You — rou are very 
fond of W? 

Adr, Yes. 

Soph. [Bravdy] Perhaps toq love her. 

Adr. I do. 

Soph. O! Then 

Adr. But it will be haidest for Kordenko. 9ie is be- 
trothed to him. 

Soph. Betrothed! Ah, to 

Adr. Alexander Kord^iko. He is headstrcHig, and 
does not always understand. I'm afraid he will want to 
brave things out here. 

Soph. O, he can't! He must understand that he 
can't. That would mean the destruction of both. Could 
he not go with her? 

Adr. Perhaps. 

Soph. I can arrange that too, if he wishes. My friend 
was to be accompanied by a brother. He can go later. 
Tell Kordenko, and let me know before to-morrow. 
[Re-enter Vetrova, rigki\ 

Vet. [Respectfully] Will the lady take a cup of tea in the 
garden with Catherine and my little granddaughter? 

Soph. Gladly. [To Adrian] She must know me. 
[Vetrova holds the door open for her] 

[Vera*8 voice without] O, you have come! This way to 
the garden. 

[Vetrova closeh (he door and crosses to Adrian, who stands 
motionless^ apparently not seeing Vetrova] 

Vet. A sweet lady. 

Adr. [To himself] The princess! 


Vet. Eh, yes, she steps like one. But not so pretty as 
our Vera. 

Adr. [Catching the last word] Vera! Ah, — ^Petrovich, 
I've been thinking that the children ought not to be parted. 

Vet. You are right, Adrian Lavrov. 

Adr. And you would be willing to let Vera go with 
Vasil to Berlin? 

Vet. [Astounded] Go with him? My Vera? My little 
girl? Go away? Leave her old grandfather? I don't 
understand you, Adrian Lavrov. Let the boy stay with 
his sister. 

Adr. [Putting his hand^ on Vetrova's shoulder] That 
must not be, Petrovich. He ought to go. He muM go. 
He will be a great musician. God means it. There is no 
mistake about him. [Leaves Vetrova and crosses to table 
where Vasil has been studying. Turns over the papers 
meditatively, forgetting Vetrova] He will never write. He 
feels too much to articulate. But music— through that his 
divinity can flow. [Takes up the book] Bless the lad! 
He learns by leaps. [Drops book] And I must send him 
from me — ^my youth — ^my dreams. 

Vet. But not Vera! Not her! 

Adr. If she stays she will marry, Petrovich. And she 
must leave you then. 

Vet. No, no! Alexander has promised me that she may 
live with me till I die. [Pleadingly] Only till I die, Adrian 

Adr. [Hiding his emotion] Well, Petrovich, sufficient 
unto the day. Let us be happy till to-morrow. 
[Re-enter Korelenko, right] 

Kore. Vera is caUing you, Petrovich. [Vetrova hobbles 
off, right] Who is this woman, Adrian? 

Adr. You heard the name. 

Kore. I heard what she calls herself, but who is she? 

Adr. I shall not tell you. 


Kore. You needn't. I know enough. 

Adr. What do you know? 

Kore. What my eyes tell me. She is helping Vera with 
the dishes — and such hands! Remember I have warned 
you against the princess Sophie. 

Adr. Forget that slander, Korelenko. 

Kore. Slander! I believe that this woman is the friend 
and accomplice of the princess. 

Adr. [Smiling] You do? 

Kore. [Looking at his watch] I must hurry to Yaltowa. 
Do me this favor, Adrian. Don't leave Vera alone with 
this — Sophie Remon. At the best she is not what she pre- 
tends to be, and for some reason she is trying to win Vera's 

Adr. Alexander, I must speak to you about Vera. 

Kore. [Going"] Not a second to spare. I am already 
late, and Gregorief 

Adr. Gregorief ! He will ruin you, Sasha. You are half 
a terrorist now. He will complete the work. 

Kore. He is getting at the bottom of a big reactionary 
plot. I can't stay to explain, and we don't know enough 

Adr. Keep away from him! 

Kore. Can't now. We must root this out. It is a ter- 
rible thing. I shall be back by midnight. [Exit] 

Adr. And Vera must go to-morrow. 

[Re-enter Vetrova, right] 

Adr. What is wrong, Petrovich? 

Vet. The lady is a good lady. Yes. But why does she 
want to take Vera from the old man? She has stolen the 
child's heart. And to-morrow she is going to send a car- 

[Distant cries are heard from wUhovt] 

Adr. What is that? It sounds like — ^Petoflf yesterday. 
[Uliana hurries in, street door] What is it, Uliana? 


Uliana [Crossing herself toward icon as she enters] O, 
sir, the soldiers have come ! 

Adr. The soldiers? Well, they are only passing through 
the village. 

Uli. They have stopped, sir! And they are Cos- 

Adr. Do not be alarmed. They — [Enter two peasants] 
Simeon? Gregori? 

Simeon. What do they want — ^the soldiers? 

Adr. Nothing. 

Gregori. We are ordered to line up in the street. They 
are dragging some of the men out. Does that mean 
nothing, Shepherd of Lonz? 

Adr. I will find out what it means. Stay here. You 
have done no wrong. You will not be harmed. [Enter 
another peasant] Ugo? 

Ugo. Is it flogging, sir? 

Adr. No! It can't be! [Goes toward door. Cries of 
" The Shepherd, The Shepherd,'' heard withmd] 

Adr. [In door] I am here. 

A voice withmd. We have followed your counsel. Shep- 
herd of Lonz. We have kept the peace. We have borne 
the taxes. We have given our sons to the war. Why are 
the soldiers here? 

Adr. I do not know. But I have the word of Prince 
Travinski, your little father, that no outrage will be com- 
mitted. Come in, friends. 

[A dozen or more peasants enter. Catherine, Sophie, Vera 
and Vasil come on, right] 

A peasant. [Doggedly] I gave the Czar my two sons. 
He gives me the rod. 

Another. My children have no bread. But the taxes 
are paid. 

Adr. You have done your best, and I can not believe 
that you will be harmed. 


A peasant. It makes no difference how we do. There 
weie good men at Petoff . 

[A man staggers in] 

Adr. Kalushkin! 

Vli. [Rushing to him] My Petrov! Out of your bed! 
Why did you come? 

Kalushkin. We are to be lined up in the street and every 
tenth man flogged. 

[Silence. Then a vxmum hurries in] 

Adr. Anna! 

Anna. [Kneeling before Adrian] My lad — ^they have 
taken him! His father died last night. You know how 
he died. He was starved. He left the bread for me and 
the lad. And now they have taken him — my boy — 

[Adrian lifts her up in silence] 

A peasant. [Starting up from bench where he has sat as 
if stunned] Flogging! [Relapses into silence] 

Kalush. We are weak, we are starved, we can not bear 
the blows. 

Adr. Whatever happens we will not forget that the blow 
we receive falls on oiu* bodies only; the blow we give falls 
back upon oiu* souls. We will be patient even unto death; 
we will not league with our enemy against oiu* immortal 

[Groans f and mutters of remonstrance] 

What have our neighbors at Petoff gained by striking 
back? Put out your hands and feel the ashes of their 
homes. And they have lost not only their homes, their 
children, and themselves, but an eternal triumph, a tri- 
umph for the spirit of peace in the world. 

A voice at door. Here they come! 

[Enter Orloff, with soldiers. Others are seen crowding 
into the yard] 

Orloff. We want the men of this house. 


Adr. I am one. 

Orl. [Looking him over] Not you. We know you. We 
want the peasants. There are two here. [Olandng at 
paper in his hand] Peter Vetrova, Vasil Vetrova. 

Adr. For what are they wanted? This is a peaceful 

Orl. And we intend to see that it remains so. 

Adr. I can assure you of that. My word is worth some- 

Orl. Not in the army, friend. 

Adr. The men of LfOnz are men of peace. 

Orl. A warning not to get bad habits from their neigh- 
bors won't hurt them. Revolt is catching, and Petoflf has 
given us a deal of trouble. 

Adr. Does this mean flogging? 

Orl. Only every tenth man. The same as for taxes. 
They get oflf light, but we've heard no thanks yet. 

Adr. Prince Travinski gave me his word this morn- 

Orl. Travinski! It was this morning that he sent to 
Petrizoff asking him to warm up Lonz a Utile and be quick 
about it. 

Adr. This morning? 

Orl. You see, my friend, your word won't pass in the 
army. And you can't blame Travinski for wanting to 
take things in time here after all his bother about Petoflf. 
[Loudly] Peter Vetrova! 

Adr. [Pushing Vetrova forward] One blow would kill 
this old man. Have you a warrant for murder? 

Orl. Let him go. Death will take care of him. [Laughs] 

[Adrian draws Vetrova back] 

Orl. Vasil Vetrova! 
[VasU steps out, his face white, his eyes blazing] 

A voice. Adrian Lavrov, do you still say submit? 

Adr. [Blanching] Submit. 


Orl. [To F(wi/] Come! 

Adr. [Stepping between them] I will take his lot. Put 
me in his place. 

OrL You are not a peasant. 

Adr. I live as one, work as one. We are not bom to a 
class; we choose it. It is the lad who is no peasant. 

Orl. What is he then? 

Adr. A student. 

OrL Ha! In the University of Lonz! No. He must 
come with us. 

Adr. If I can not stand for him I will stand for myself. 
I am one of these people. 

A voice. No! 

Adr. You live by my counsel. I too must live by it. If 
I shun the fate it brings I can not ask you to believe me 

[Sophie moves appealingly forward, then back unnoticed] 

Orl. I can't oblige you with a flogging, — I am sorry to 
say, — even to keep you in favor with your converts. For- 
ward! To the line! 

Soph. [Stepping ovi] Release the boy! 

Orl. Who are you? 

Soph. [Taking off her hat] You know. Count Orloflf. 

Orl. I salute your highness. 

Soph. Release him. 

Orl. Again I salute your highness, but my orders are 
from Petrizoflf. 

Soph. Mine also. Read this. [Holds an open locket 
before him] 

Orl. [Reads] "The bearer is in my service. Petrizoflf." 
[SofUy] Ah,— the tiara? 

Adr. O God! 

Orl. We release Vasil Vetrova. [To princess, in low 
tone] When may I see you? 

Soph. To-night, at the ball. 


OrL [Bending over her hand] Till then — silence. [To 
the men] Forward! 

A voice. Must we go, Shepherd of LfOnz? We have 
hands as well as they! Must we go? 

Adr. Go. The millennium is no lie, and the man who 
suffers wrong for the eternal right's sake is the man who 
brings it nearer. Go! And God give you strength to be 
true to yourselves — ^to the future — ^to Him! 

[Orloff, soldiers and peasants pass out. Adrian is fol- 
lowing when Sophie comes toward him hesitatingly] 

Adr. I must go with the people. 

Soph. I have not deceived you in the way you think. 

Adr. [Passing her] I must go. 

Soph. You will return here? 

Adr. This is my home. 

Soph. I shall wait for you. 

Adr. Farewell! [Exit] 

[Sophie stands looking after him. VasU approa^ftes and 
kneels before her. She gives him her hand^ which he kisses 
reverently. Curtain] 

Scene 2. Same room several hours later. Sophie aionCf 
standing by the small, high window^ left. 

Soph. Almost sunset. [Turns from window] And he 
knows I am waiting. [Hears a step in the yard and turns 
again to window. Adrian enters, pauses in door, and sees 
Sophie gazing out. He advances] 

Adr. Your highness? 

Soph. [Turning her head] You have made no haste. 

Adr. I have been with the people. 

Soph. [Looking at him] You are tired. I, too, went 
out, but it was so terrible. . . . You are very tired. Sit 
down, please. I want to stand. [Takes a few nervous 
steps and goes back to window] 


Adr. [Breaking ihe silence] Is there anything to say? 

Soph. [Not turning] The horrible thing you think of 
me is not true. 

Adr. We will not talk about that. 

Soph. [Turns, eagerly] You have forgiven me? 

Adr. Yes. 

Soph. As the saints forgive, or for love of me? 

Ad/r. For love of God, not you! 

Soph. [Smiling] It's the same thing, isn't it? 

Adr. [In embarrassment] I — ^what did you mean? 

Soph. Come, sit down. [She takes a seat. He does not 
move] Do rest. You will drop. [He is silent] So you 
do not love me? 

Adr. I have not time to amuse your highness 

Soph. [Risiag] Nor I to be amused. I know the truth. 
You do love me. I saw it in your face when you thought 
I had been false. I knew then that I was more than a 
mere traitor. I was beloved. And in spite of the suflFer- 
ing — ^the sadness — the shame — I was glad. 

Adr. [Trembling] Glad? 

Soph. First, let me tell you that I am Petrizoff's spy. 
[He drops to a seat] He wanted to convict you. You are 
so important, it seems, that proof from a high source was 
necessary. I oflFered to supply it. [Smiles] Don't you 
see? I was afraid some one else might be successful. 

Adr. [Rising] I see. You are only false to PetrizoflF. 

Soph. [HoUy] I am only his good angel. I have kept 
him from doing terrible things by not finding the means 

Adr. Forgive me. I don't understand yet. Why did 
you do this — ^for me? 

Soph. You were doing a noble work. 

Adr. [Turns away] Yes, it was my work you wanted to 

Soph. Adrian ! [He faces her. She stands in the light 
from ihe window] You came to the Travinski palace two 


years ago. It was June, like this — [motioning out] — ^and 
sunset — ^like this. Do you remember? 

Adr. I remember. 

Soph. You talked to my father. I was in the room. 
You did not see me, a mere princess, — ^but I saw you — 
heard you. I could not leave — ^I could not turn away. 
Your words were like new dreams to me. . . . And after 
that Petrizoff appealed to my father to furnish evidence 
against you. He consented because he feared your power 
over the peasants. I begged him to trust the matter to 
me, and it was then that I made the foolish wager with 
Petrizoflf. My light manner deceived him, but all the 
time my heart was dying within me for fear I should 

Adr. [Faiteringly] Your highness 

Soph. O, not that! I have called you Adrian for two 
years. [He is silent, and she continties] The Red Cross 
work gave me opportunities to see you. At first perhaps 
I was only trying to save you — and win you. But now I 
know that I am true. I am ready to die for the things 
that you would die for, not for your sake but the things' 
sake. Though I do not love you less. My love has grown 
with my spirit. When we met this morning I dared to put 
into my eyes all that I felt. You looked as though you 
had suddenly met a being out of Heaven, but it was not 
Heaven's light upon my face; it was my love for you. 

Adr. Sophie ... let it be the light from Heaven, not 
poor human love. 

Soph. [Drawing hack] Have I — ^am I — ^mistaken? 

Adr. No. I love you as I have prayed never to love in 
my life. 

Soph. And I love you as I have prayed all my life I 
might love. 

Adr. There are greater things — ^than this. 

Soph. I know. It is because of those greater things 


that I love you. [Touehmg him ynily] And how can 
love be anything but a hdp — a Messing? 

Adr. By taking no second jdace; by making itself mas- 
ter, as it always does; as it is dcMng now. 

[Moves from her in offUation^ which he suppresses^ and 
speaks sieadUy] Years ago I gave mysdf to mankind. A 
poor gift, but the sorvender was hard, for I loved myself 
and bdiered in giants, if not gods, who shoolder above 
the race. Bat the soirender was comjdete. And now 
shall I take another sdf in you? One that I could never 
give up? 

[She is sHeni, A woman approaches wiJOund^ wuMVsing^ 
Adrian goes to the dooT\ Anna? 

Anna^ [Appearing ai door] My lad is dead, sir. He 
wanted to see you again, but there was none to send. 
Each is busy with his own. 

Adr. Dear Nikola! God's rest is his. 

^ftfia. Yes. Heavm is a good jdace for our <Jifldien. 
Tis better with me than Uliana. Her Petrov may Uve, 
but he will never walk. Can you come to-night and sit a 
Ut by the lad? I'm almost thinkin* he would knowit, sir. 

Adr. I will come, Anna. 

Anna. Just a bit. I wouldn't keep you fitMn the living. 
God Mess you, sir! [Goes. Adrian remains in door utdU 
her fooisieps die awag^ then returns to Sophie] 

Adr. You know what my woik means. The dafly offer- 
ing up of the body to priscm and death. That does not 
matter now, but if you were in danger, as my wife would 
always be, do you doubt that I would try to save you at 
the risk of all for niiich I have lived? And I have lived 
for it because it was the cme righteous way for me. 

Soph. I should never come betwe^i you and your work. 

Adr. I gave up amlntion — ^I would rather move with the 
multitude one step nearer the light than with my two hands 
catch at the sun. I gave up art — ^what right had I to le- 


treat into the beautiful while my brothers lay blind with- 
out? Burnish my spirit to reflect gleams beyond the sta^s, 
while children were without bread? But love? O, I 
thought God would spare me this! 

Soph. Adrian — ^you don't understand — ^I should not be 
in your way — ^your work would be mine 

Adr. O, you don't understand — ^you can't, for you are a 
woman, whose natural breath is the incense of sacrifice. 
But in me there is no angel. If you were mine, I would 
risk everything to hold you — one bit of rosy flesh that I 
might kiss! 

Soph, [SofUy] I know you better than that. 

Adr. Even now I am trembling for you, thinking more 
of your safety than of the poor people who are waiting for 
me as their only hope. You must leave here at once — 
cease trying to protect me — ^what you have done for Vasil 
may arouse the suspicions of Petrizoflf 

Soph. He will not hear of it. I spoke to OrloflF. [An- 
swering his look] I can take care of myself, Adrian. 
[Taking his hand] It is you who need 

Adr. [Withdrawing his hand] Don't! Who lets in love, 
lets in his master, and I must be free — ^free! You will 
despise me, but that perhaps is the better way. O, I long 
to deceive myself, to say that it would make no difference, 
that I could see the chains fastened about you, see you 
dragged away, and go on unfalteringly with no dinmiing 
of the vision. But it would be a lie. 

Soph. The truth. You could do it. 

Adr. No. And you would not want me to do it For- 
give me. You do not believe it now, but you would want 
me to love you first. 

Soph. Yes. But I should not let you. You say your- 
self that sacrifice is woman's breath. I could give up even 
my desire to be first. But why make a question of the im- 
possible? No woman could be first with you, Adrian. 


Adr, O you don't know/ 

[A man (Hrtncn to door^ rear^ makes sign of the cross toward 
Uhph. ami titartds waiting] 

Adr. WIml now, Nieo? 

Niiv. iVtrov KoluMlikin is worse, sir. Can you come 
iH'foro nl|{hiF 

•t(/r In ten minutes. 

Nivtt. The n<ily Mother bless you, sir! [Eont] 

kSo/iA* [As Adrian turfUf silmtly to her] I have only this 
to tm^y, Adrian* I understand, and I am ready. 

Adr. And t am not« I know the man in me too well. 
t ecMi not trust liim. While you are safe, and I am 

<S«i|iAx [IWiiiy ctinf gaiktring up her pride] I am sorry 
that t wtutetl hvt the etutimand. [Moving to ri^] I will 
^piMkk to the Vetn^va^^ and obey you. 

fclrfrv [Ant skit i^pims door] Sophie! 

j$«^. [fitm^ii^rl PHiKX!«$ TrmTiiiski! [£jr«f] 

A^t^ Ah. ivrtde will nol help iWr. I don't know what 
iMst Ka(^pene^^what I liave d«ie 

{Kktitt TvMtf^ v'^^^Mhf ri^. <wrfyt«y ibu tjofui] 

AJh'. Xsv Kill ^ fe ^^'Aii^. 

r^*«}. ^Iie w^H <\>ttie KudbJ 

M^. XS^ ^^t .^^ I^> il «MM^ tki* dkr kK 

jt>wa >wrf*ctf Ivs *< S.vr o*e ^br J 

l^wwj., 5^ tuiBf^ J^>rt»i SwiRieJf lid vfee fcww^pw — fcy swniK 

W|>rM^. ^W YNU^ $.M&ptt x^w aad l]k^ v^^ 

%^w^ ^titt'. I ^^mii£ ;rKH«te :imdt<S!«<ttO)d it. W)«i I :fim^ 


till my head goes oflF, nor ask why. The people are good, 
honest, work from light to dark, yet they starve, bleed, 
die. And I, who pray to harm nothing, I — this morning — 
[stops, shvdderSf crosses to table, rear, lays his violin upon 
it, and sits despairingly. Adrian follows and puts his arm 
over the boy^s shoulders] 

Adr. That is over, lad. You will soon be in Berlin 
with your music, and you will forget. Think of it as a 
dream that will not come again. . 

VasU. But it will be coming to others. Always some- 
where there are people suflFering, in prison, mad, tor- 

Adr. You can not help them now, Vasil. And to let 
sympathy destroy your power for work will rob them of 
the joy you may bring them hereafter. Forget them for 
awhile that you may come again with help, not tears, that 
ease your heart rather than theirs. 

Va^sU. No, I shall not forget — ^not for a minute — ^but I 
shall work and be blithe of soul, for what has the soul to 
do with the tearing of the heart, unless it be to show its 
free wings above it? If I were imprisoned, racked, dying, 
I should want the music to go on, I should try even then to 
help it, to turn my cries into a song. That is why I can 
sing while they suffer — ^because happiness is the right 
thing — because I am ready to suflFer while they sing, — 
not because I forget. O, you can trust me, Adrian ! And 
[with sudden appeal] I want to be at the meeting to- 

Adr. [Hastily] No. 

VaM. Yes, Adrian. 

Adr. You are too young. 

Va^sU. As old as the morning star. Do not be afraid. 
Whatever touches me, nothing shall touch my song. 

Adr. Your song can be saved only with your life, Vasil, 
jind thi9 meeting is dangerous. In a few days you are 


going away. We will not uselessly waste your heart to- 

VasiL I do not want to go just now, Adrian. Let me 
stay here a little longer. There is so much you can teach 
me yet. 

Adr. [Smiling] You make better music than I can 
dream. No, it is time to go. 

VasU. But I want to stay! 

Adr. [Quickly] You must have no wishes. [More gently] 
Aside from your art. 

VasU. Art can breathe only through life. I must live! 
Art is for men and women. If I do not understand them, 
how can they imderstand my music? I shall not play to 
sheep, nor rocks, nor stars, nor Grod, nor angels! 

Adr. You know what I mean, VasU. In heart the true 
artist is all man, all woman; but in genius, as impersonal 
as the universe. 

Vctsil. I know it ! Have I not proved it to-day? Petrov 
Kalushkin is lying over yonder bleeding from a hundred 
lashes, but I — [taking up his violin] — Glisten to "The Joy 
of the Stars!" 

Adr. [Laying his hand an the bow] Stop — ^no — ^I mean — 
[silence. Vasil puts down the violin and looks at Adtian\ 
I am not a genius, Vasil. You will be what I can not. 

VaM. And you will trust me? I may be at the meeting? 

Adr. [Taking his hat] Yes. This once. And then 

VasU. You are worn out, Adrian. Must you go again? 

Adr. Again and again. You may say good-by to the 
princess for me. 

VasU. Wait! She is coming! [Eocit Adrianydreetdoor^ 
as Sophie and Vera enter left. Sophie has on hat and 

Vera. You kissed me this morning, and you were a 


Soph. And I will kiss you again, dear Vera. You will 
be ready in the morning for the visit you have prom- 
ised me? 

Vera. O, yes! 

[They cross toward FcwiZ] 

Vera. I shall love you always for saving my Vasil. It 
would have killed him. Adrian has guarded him always. 
[Lifting VasiVs hand] See 

VasU. [Offended^ drawing away his hand\ I am not a 
child, Vera. 

Vera. [HuH] O, Vasil! 

VaM. [Embracing her] There! The princess will think 
we are two babies. 

Vera. [With dignity] I am betrothed. 

Soph. Happy Alexander! 

VaM. [Jealously, as she caresses Vera] Princess, may I 
play to you before you go? 

Soph. O, will you? 

Vera. Sit here, princess. 

[Sophie takes the large chair. Vera sits on stool beside 
her. Vasil gets his violin from table, comes over and 
stands ready to play. Drops the bow in desperation] 

Soph. What is the matter? 

Vasil. How can I play to that ugly coat and hat? 

Soph. [Laughing and removing hat and vlster] Is that 

Vasil. Now you are my princess! 

Soph. Yours? 

Vasil. Yes. You have sold yourself to me. 

Soph. I have? 

VasU. By doing me a favor — ^the most binding of bar- 
gains. As long as you live your thoughts will come back 
to me. Could you forget me, princess? 

Soph. No, Vasil. But you must not care so much. 

Vasil. Don't you like me to care? 


S&pk. Y«y fert 

Fd^JL Theft I wiB. O, it is ^onovB to 

kntmwhyl To saigz/kdhaom la whotn At aaaghAmapl 

S&pk. Mj boy, make jaar conatrj joar goddesB^. not a 

FimI, T4j€M^rjl WhaAisit? The tlmg UmI nned 
a kfimit abc^e 1117 shoiddefs? 

A);*, My dear Vaail 

VeuH, Adrian » r%fat. I most find tint whidi is not 
eovmtry , nor home, nor people, — the eternal in Ae Iknd: 

iS<)jE>4. Bat Adrian cares for coantrr, home, peoples 

Vcml, No, He csn^es onlj for the sooL These otker 
things are shadoir bonndaries in the mind tint Tanidi 
wh€fi the 90cd looks on them. Here, IH Aem joa how 
Kttle he cares, [Unftuieiu a chain from his nedk amd 
drofwif a medal Jrcfm his bosom] He gare me this, because 
I wanted it to play with. I was only a boy then. And he 
forgot all aboot it. Hare yoa noticed how Adrian for- 
gets? I would not give it back because he was going to 
bury it, [Holding out medal] See? [Drawing it badt] 
Yoa love him, don't you? 

Soph. Why — yes — ^you strange boy. 

Vasil. Then you may see it. 

Soph. [Turning away] No. 

VasU. But I want you to look. The name is cm it — his 
grandfather's — great-grandfather's — O, I don^ know how 
far back. But I am sure he was a great prince. 

Sophs [Looking at medal] Donskoi! 

VasU. Wasn't he a great prince? 

Soph. Yes. But a greater man. 

Vasil. And Adrian could be a prince too. [Re-fastening 
chain] But he doesn't care at all. When I asked bim if 
this was a piece of the sun, he said "" No, the last of a great 
shadow." I know what he meant now. Why are you 
sad» princess? 


Soph. Because I have been unkind to Adrian. 

VcLsU. Don't mind. He will forgive you. He forgives 
everybody everything. 

Soph. But it isn't pleasant to be forgiven that way, as 
if we were anybody else. I want to be forgiven because 
I am myself. 

VasU. You can't with Adrian. His star is the soul, 
and in its light we are all alike. 

Soph. And what is your star, Vasil? 

Vasil. Mine? It is the same, only I call it love instead 
of soul. The great love — ^that makes one heart beat in 
another's body — ^that makes me faint in Russia when a 
b^gar starves in India — that fades your cheek with the 
giij's at an English loom — ^that turns the comfortable 
American out of doors with the driven Jew — ^that gives 
one color to every flag, and makes the might of the strong- 
est nation the right of the KaflSr babe. This is my star, 
as Adrian's, only I see it warm and golden instead of cold 
and white. 

Soph. [Softly] It may not be always cold and white to 

VasU. [ThoughtfvUy] Perhaps not, or he would not 
know so well 

Soph. How others see? 

VasU. [Nods, and takes up his violin] Shall I play now, 

Soph. Yes, but do not think of me, — ^think of 

VasU,. I know. The great love. 

[He plays, standing by window. Vera sits leaning 
against Sophie^s lap. The princess gazes toward the door, 
and her look meets Adrian* s as he enters. He crosses and 
stands by her chair. She reaches up and gives him her 
hand, which he cla^sps. Curtain] 


Scene 1. Same room at night, A score or mxyre of peasant 
men and women^ and haif as many revolvtionisls assem- 
bled. They are singing as the curtain rises. 

Hark, brothers, hark! 

[Knocks knockf knockl] 
What do you here. 
Knocking in the cold? 
Red are your hands, 
Frozen are your feet, 

[Knocky knock, knock!] 
What do you here. 
Knocking in the cold? 

A prison we build, 

[Knock, knock, knock/] 

Here the Czar knelt, 

Blessing the stones; 

But when it is finished 

The gates will unfold 

And swallow the builders. 
[Knock, knock, knockl] 

They who labor not. 

The rich and the idle. 

Will imprison the workers 

Who make the babe's bread. 

Despair drives our hammer, 


The hearts of the toilers 

Lie under the blow; 

We will throw down the hammer. 

We will labor no more. 

No, brothers, no! 
Build ye the prison. 
Be willing of heart; 
And when it is finished. 
Your heavy oppressors 
Through the dark gates 
In terror shall pass. 
Weeping to dungeon 
The rich and the idle 
Then shall descend. 
While above ye shall sing, 
Swinging your hammers 
In the broad light. 
Knock, brothers, knock! 
[Knockf knocky knock/] 

[At close of song Adrian rises. Silence] 

An old man. Speak, Adrian Lavrov. 

Adr. Brothers, we have met to talk matters over. 

Manlief. We have talked for seventy-five years ! 

A student. The lash spoke the last word to-day. 

Old man. Speak, Adrian Lavrov. 

Adr. Friends, the truth that was clear to you before 
the enemy's blow fell to-day is no less true now that the 
blow has fallen. 

Mani. Not on your back, Lavrov. 

A peasant. The lash of the Czar goes deeper than the 
words of the preacher. 

Another. We have obeyed you until now, shepherd of 


4dr, [Crently] And you will obey me again. 

Mard. You will obey the voice of your own manhood ! 

Adr. You will remember that you bear the leaven of the 
race, that you carry in your blood the universal peace. 

Mard. Every beat of your hearts is telling you now to 
be men ! 

Adr. Submission is the only death-answer to vio- 
lence. The world for very shame must cease to crucify 

Gregorief, [Leaping up] Move your Sunday-school to 
the dungeons of Schlusselburg! Yes, I have been there. 
I was twenty years under the storm-waves of Lake Ladoga, 
and if your words could have reached me through the damp 
walls they would have received their true answer — a mad- 
man's answer. For torture does not give men the serenity 
of gods or preachers, Lavrov. Twenty years of the silence 
that welcomes the silence of death — ^twenty years of the 
loneliness that makes men pray for the joy of weeping 
together — ^twenty years with starving eyes on naked walls, 
while above me the great, wide seasons were going by — 
twenty years of void and gloom with the windy waters 
whipping my prison island, and all the more maddening 
because I could not hear them, because they too were a 
silent guard. I was like this boy [Umching VasU, who is 
leaning toward him listening intently] when they put me 
in, and I came out — ^as you see. [Laughs ironically] 
But I am fortunate. I left others behind me to whom 
those dark doors will never open, while I have the privi- 
l^e of — dying above ground. 

Adr. It malces no difference which side of a prison door 
the conquering spirit is on, Gr^orief. 

Greg. Ha! I wasn't a spirit then. They put me in 
while I was stiD in this life, where the flesh throbs and the 
blood sings. I was like this boy, I say, and I came out 
two months ago a broken consumptive wretch. You see 


me, Lavrov. Am I fit to leaven the race? / am what 
oppression makes, not the meek angels you dream about. 
Into my children will go the bitterness of the wronged to 
come out in hate, the feebleness of the broken man to 
come out in cunning, the stinging for revenge to come out 
in murder 

Adr. But if you had triumphed — ^the immortal you — 
what a soul you could bequeath to your country! O, one 
such could almost save her! 

Greg. One! She has them by the thousand, every- 
where thwarting us — their holy tears putting out our living 
fire as fast as we kindle it! [Laying his hands on Vasil] 
Ah, here is a spirit worth all your saints, Lavrov. Son, 
take up my torch as I drop it — ^my torch and sword, 

VomI. [Eager and trembling] I am a singer, not a fighter. 

Oreg. Songs are good weapons. Write them for us, 
boy. Give us one to-night before the fire dies there. 
[Knocking VasU^s breast] A war-song 

Vasil, [Springing up] I will! A song from Schlussel- 
burg! [Rushes out, street door] 

Adr. Are you the devil, Gregorief ? 

Greg. [Laughing] If I am I must have my legions. Did 
you intend my recruit for a saint, Lavrov? [Fervidly] I 
have sworn to level my prison before I die 

Adr. You have laid another stone upon it. There is 
but one power before which the prisons will forever fall — 
the power of the soul. Strike them down, and the 
blows that lay them low will raise them again for your 

Greg. Fanaticism ! You can not fit the laws of Heaven 
to the energies of earth, Lavrov! I tell you 

GalovMne. Leave this. We've no time. The burning 
of Yaltowa is fixed for to-morrow night. 

Adr. [Dazed] The burning of Yaltowa! 


Greg, Yes, Lavrov. PetrizoflF intends to bum the town 
in our name. We are moving too fast toward the favor of 
the world, and must be repainted as red ogres. 

Adr. Bum the town ! 

ManL [Bitterly] That is not so bad a matter. What are 
a few thousand homes more or less in a country where no 
house is safe? The terrible part is the blow to the cause. 
Our great parties were never more united, never so ready 
for a telling stroke, and this horrible crime laid at the door 
of the revolutionists 

Adr. It must be prevented! We must act at once 

MarU. And get clapped into prison a little sooner. There 
is not time now for general action. 

Adr. Burnt? The horror of it! 

Oreg. [Looking at Adrian] It can be prevented. 

Adr. How? 

Oreg. Petrizoff is the whole plot, and he is not immortal. 

Adr. [After a cold silence] You are a fool to say this to 
me, Gregorief. 

Oreg. Reserve your judgment till you know yourself 
better. Your heart is with us, Lavrov, in spite of your 

Adr. Do you suppose I would quietly permit this 

Oreg. Will you quietly permit Petrizolff's ten-thousand 

Adr. There is a difference. 

Oreg. Yes. We put one assassin to righteous death, he 
murders thousands of honest men. 

Adr. [In same tone as before] There is a difference. 

Oreg. Fowr difference! 

Adr. God's difference. The wicked may do their worst 
and the world still hope, but if the children of light borrow 
their weapons 

Greg. There is but one way to fight the devil ! 


Adr, If you use his own fire you must live in hell to 
do it. 

Oreg, And we don't live in hell now, I suppose! 

Adr, Not an everlasting one. You have the selfish- 
ness of the living generation, Gr^orief, that consumes as 
its candle the sun of the unborn. 

Oreg. Bah! Each generation must fight for its own 

Adr, Who conquers with a club will rule with a club. 
It is only through the enduring righteousness now taking 
deepest root in the night of oppression that true liberation 
will come, pushing upward to flower in the conscience of 
every man. When we are free from within, government 
will of itself fall away 

Oreg, Anarchy! 

Adr, Yes. Anarchy of the soul, not of the blood. The 
anarchy that Christ saw when he said the meek shall in- 
herit the earth. This is the vision before me, the vision 
that I held before the bleeding bodies in Lonz to-day 

Oreg, To the devil with your visions ! Man will always 
be a worm while he crawls ! It is those who have remem- 
bered their stature that have done most for the race. And 
I — from under their feet — with Death's hand upon me — 
I will remember mine ! 

[GalovMne, who is watching at the door^ steps forwardy 
lifting his hand in signal. Instantly the scene becomes one 
of merrymaking, A man who sits on shelf above stove be- 
gins fiddling, and a peasant dances a clog in the middle of 
the floor,, Orloff entersy followed by two or three guards, 
Vetrova rises to meet them] 

Vet. You are welcome. 

Orl, A jolly ending to the day, good people. 

Vet, We've reason to be merry, sir, as you know, who 
spared niy lad this morning. 

Caih, And you too, Petrovich. 


Vet. Eh, but I don't count, mother. 

Orl. Tis sporting time with us too. We are on our way 
to the officers' ball at Yaltowa. A little gayety after the 
hard work at Feto£F. Glad to find you are not making 
more trouble for us. 

Vet. We've had our lesson, sir. 

Orl. [Suspicumsly] And this happy meeting is to en- 
courage yourselves in good intentions? 

Vet. Sir, we are true men. 

[Vctsil suddenly appears in dooty rear, waving a paper] 

Vasil. I have iti The song is ready! 

Adr. [Looking meaningly at VasH] Don't be so sure of 
your first eflFort, my boy. Better let it get cold. 

Orl. No, we'll hear it. That paper looks interesting. 

FflwiZ. Pardon me. [Folds paper and puts it into his 

Orl. I insist upon hearing it. 

Vasil. [Taking paper out reluctantly] 'Tis merely a song, 
sir, and will hardly bear reading. I will sing it for you. 
[Unfolds paper slowly] A Welcome to Summer, friends. 
'Tis an old chorus, and you can help me with it. [Sings] 

Come out, come out with me 
To meet the summer maid! 
A queen, a queen is she. 
Whose love is as the sea 
That would all lands caress. 
Whose loves are many as the sands. 
And each a sovereign is. 
For whom her arms curing 
Is royal by her kiss, 
Forevermore a king, a king, a king! 

Come, dance, dance, dance, and welcome the summer maid ! 
Who has looked into her eyes is nevermore afraid! 


We will gather our hearts together, we wUl mingle our 

feet on the grass, 
We will hold her with kisses, nor ever, nor ever let her pass ! 
[The peasants join in chorus] 

Her free step is the dawn 
No darkness can waylay. 
Her laugh is the wild waterfall 
By winter never chained. 
Her hair the winds unreined. 
Her eyes unbridled sun, 
And all the waves are in her call 
That heard is never still. 
Her breath the clouds that hie 
Free as they list or will. 
And in her bosom find a greater sky! 

Ye mothers, come, forsake 
Dead fire and frozen hearth; 
The bones ye call your babes, awake. 
For in her lap she bears 
Sweet grain and golden ears 
That warming in their veins shall make 
The ruddy might of men; 
Your daughters that now lie 
Blanched, broken, still, shall then 
lift up rose faces and forget to die. 

Old Winter in his snows 

Is covered, covered deep, 

For all above him lie his slain, 

And not until his breath 

Has warmed them out of death 

May he arise from his cold sleep. 

Good-by, good-by, good-by. 


Old Winter dead and white, 
No more meet you and I, 
A last and long, a long and last good-night! 

[As the chorus is sung the last time, VasU dances out 
among the peasants^ who join hands with him and all mxyoe 
in a ring, singing] 

OrL I congratulate you. And now will you favor me 
with the copy? 

VasU. [Seeming to hesitate] Tis hardly worthy 

OrL [Taking it] Leave that to me. [Glances disap- 
pointedly at song, repeating the first line] Humph! Yes 
. . . [Puis it into his pocket] So you are all true men en- 
joying yourselves? I've no objection. On the contrary. 
I'm in the humor to join you if my lady Bright-eyes [look- 
ing at Vera] will honor me. 

[Vera rises, curtsies, and couples spring up, forming a 
dance, Orloff and Vera leading] 

OrL [At close of the dance] Thank you, Bright-eyes. I 
shall find no fairer partner at the ball, whither I must be 
going. And here, young man. I will leave you your 
song. It may be your only copy. [Brings out several 
papers from his pocket and looks them over] Here is the 
song, but . . . [Assumes sudden sternness] A serious mat- 
ter. I have lost an important paper since I came into this 
room. [Looks searchingly at their faces] An important 
paper on official business. [All are silent, betraying no 
emotion. He turns his gaze to Vera, who is sittirig by her 
grandfather] Ah, my little lady, perhaps your fingers were 
busy in the dance. Come forward, please. 

[Vera steps out, bewildered] 

Vera. I did not touch it. 

OrL Of course not. Now will you shake your scarf, 
please? Yes, I will do it for you. [Shakes her scarf and a 
paper drops to the floor. Orloff picks it up] Ah, foimd! 


Grood, but rather a sad affair for you, little one. Even 
fingers so dainty as yours must not meddle with the Czar's 

Vera. I did not touch them! 

Orl. Of course not. But you must come with me. 
[Mvtterings from the men] I hear you, friends. K any of 
you want to come along just make it known. Our prisons 
are well stuffed, but we can manage to pack away all 

Adr. [After a second of silence] The child is innocent. 

Orl. O, you want to go, do you? But you happen to 
be the one we don't want — ^yet. Anybody else? 

Vera. [Sobbing] I did not touch it. 

Orl. You may tell that to Fetrizoff. He is always kind 
to beauty. 

Vera. [In terror] Am I going to him? 

Orl. He will not be far away, I imagine. 

Adr. You can not take this child. The paper was not 

Orl. You saw it drop from her scarf. 

Adr. Where you put it. 

Orl. [In a rage] Your mouth will soon be shut! If I 
could have had my way this morning your hide wouldn't 
hold shucks to-night! 

[Noise of a carriage at door. Sophie enters in ball dress. 
She draws back in asUmishment at sight of Orloff] 

Soph. [Faintly] You here? 

Orl. And you? 

Soph. [Composed] May I speak to you, Coimt Orloff? 

Orl. At your service, your highness. 

[They draw aside, left, front. The peasants talk in low 
tones. Guards stand by Vera] 

Soph. Of course I know why you are here, but I had to 
simulate surprise. 

Orl. You were very successful. 


Soph. Since the exposure of this morning the peojde are 
ready to suspect me, and I must rrtain their c<xifid«ice or 
my usefuhiess is at an end. 

Orl Quite. 

Soph. They heard to-day of the girl's danger, and were 
planning her escape, so I, not knowing whether you would 
arrive in time, stepped — to 

OH. Yes? 

Soph. Quiet their fears and assure them of her safety. 
Are there any prisoners besides the girl? 

Orl. No, but I would give something to take this inso- 
lent Shepherd. I've only a few hours to wait though. 

Soph. A few hours? 

Orl. Yes — ah, you donH know everything then! 

Soph. Dear man, I know everything but one, — that is, 
how much you know. If you will go to the ball in my 
carriage we may find out how far we can trust each other. 

Orl. Angel! 

Soph. Don't! The people — you must pretend to oppose 
me. They think I am interceding for the girl. 

Orl. [As if suddenly recalling something] Why did you 
save the boy this morning? 

Soph. I will explain that too — ^in the carriage. We 
must go now. I first, so they will not know we leave to- 

Orl. [CrestfaUen] I promised PetrizoflF not to leave the 
girl till I had her safe in prison. There have been so many 

Soph. [With a glance at Vera] She is pretty. Grood- 
evening then. 

Orl. Wait — ^I will go with you ! 

Soph. [Melting] Will you? Then you sha'n't. You 
shall take no risks for me. 

OrL Risk! I would risk anything. Ah, you can't de- 
prive me now. 


Soph. Can you trust the guards? 

Orl, I vnU trust them! 

Soph. Very well. I will wait for you. [Goings stops be- 
fore Adrian] I have not been able to obtain her release, 
but I am sure there is hope. At least I have touched 
Colonel OrloflF's heart. Have I not, Count? 

Orl. You have indeed! 

Soph. [Looking steadily at Adrian] And you will hear 
news of great importance before morning. [To Orloff] 
WiU he not? 

Orl. Without doubt, your highness. 

Soph. [Going, again turns to Adrian] The Count will 
give you his word that / am to be trusted. 

Orl. To be sure, your highness. 

Soph. Good-night. [Exit] 

Orl. [After following Sophie^s departure with a faiumis 
look] Come, lady-bird, we must be moving. [Starts out, 
the guards following with Vera. Vetrova, who has seemed 
quite stunned, suddenly rushes after them and beats guards 
with his crutch] 

Orl. [Seizing him by the collar and throwing him to the 
floor] You old fool ! We don't want to bother with you ! 

[Exeunt Orloff, guards and Vera. Vetrova, lying on floor, 
lifts his fist and curses] 

Adr. [Bending over him] Petrusha! 

Vet. Let me be, Adrian Lavrov! I have held my peace 
all my life to die cursing at last! I was dumb when they 
broke my bones under the rod. I was dumb when my 
son died under the lash. But Vera, my little girl — dragged 
to that — O God, send thy fires upon him! Curse him — 
curse him — curse [Dies. The peasants cross them- 
selves. Some kneel before the icon, praying. Catherine 
gazes at Vetrova in hopeless terror. Galovkine kneels and 
examines the body] 

Galovkine. Dead. 


Caih. Dead — and a curse on his lips. My Petnisha — 
dead — and a curse on his lips. 

[Two men pick up the body and bear it ojf right centre, 
Adrian opening the door. Catherine follows with several 
women. The other peasants go ojf silently, street door, 
leaving only Adrian, VasU and the revoliUionists] 

Oreg. As I was saying when — ^the Czar interrupted us — 
Petrizoff must die. And you will help us, Lavrov. Yes 
— you must! You say yourself that our best hope lies in 
sympathy and sentiment 

Adr. Which the bomb utterly destroys. 

Oftg. Not when the Shepherd throws it. Wait! I do 
not mean that literally, for this [raising his hand] is the 
consecrated hand. But your name as our leader would 
sanctify the deed. 

Adr. Your leader? 

Oftg. Yes. Not <Mily for this, but for our army. Your 
name is a divine word in every peasant home in Russia. 
It is cheered by every body of workmen gathered together 
toHUgfat^ and in the army who would not surrend^' the 
colors of Romanov to the hero line of Donskoi? 

Adr. [SkKffimg] Gregm^ 

Grfg. Wait! They are aD ready now. The peasantzr, 
inspired by the teachii^ of our martyrs for the last thirty 
vearsk — the nobihtv with awakened ccNDiscieiice, — the woik- 
men^ one great boih' with suspended armsy — the army of 
the Ciar ready to become the army of the pco|ile« — all 
awail their leader — ^yoo! [A pamse] Russia is looking 
but one way — to fireedom. TcMiay yoa may lead us to 
victiMT ahiiosi without blood. Let Petrizoff commit this 
cfinie in the name of fibefty^ and to-monow we diaB be 
Kke the scattered fimbs of a ifissevered bodhr. Toa will 
ttot let thk be* LavTOir. Yoa wiB 

AJr^ No! Let civitbalioii w^ another le n tiM j iitlier 
thian ddher her ihg t«> the hands of monkrefs! 


Greg. And where is it now if not in the hands of mur- 

Adr. It is not in their hands, Gregorief , but in ours, that 
are yet clean. Do this thing, and it is you, not Petrizoff, 
who give the greatest blow to freedom. The world is just 
beginning to understand us 

Greg, Yes! Where is that understanding growing 
strongest? In America. And how does the autocracy 
propose to meet this new influence? By a secret com- 
mercial treaty with the United States. Give any govern- 
ment a pocket interest in the security of another and to the 
winds with sympathy ! PetrizoflF has his agents there now, 
and the burning of Yaltowa is only a part of his scheme to 
chill the hearts that are warming to us. But he shall not 
Uve to do it. You will not let him live, Lavrov. My God, 
don't you see that your opportunity has come? 

Adr, Yes. My opportunity to point once more to where 
the sun shall rise. 

Chreg. The sun never rises on the blind. You would 
throw us back into night for another thousand years! 

Adr. What are a thousand years to the soul of man on 
the right path to the right thing? 

GalovMne, [Plucking at Gregorief] Come away. We 
lose time here. 

Greg. Not until I tell this fool where he stands! You 
imagine, Lavrov, that you are a friend to freedom, but a 
greater enemy does not tread Russian soil. Why does the 
government leave you at work? Because of your power to 
subdue the spirit in men. It is you — such as you — ^who 
forget our shackles and fill the prisons. But thank the 
Powers that keep the race alive, there are still some of us 
who believe in manhood — ^in the virtues of the heart as 
well as the soul — ^in courage, honor, justice! [To the 
others] Come up to BreshloflF's. We will finish there. 

[Enter Korelenko hurriedly] 


Gfty. {Gm^mg kin hmsdl Ksxdkaiko! The URond? 

Km^. VihsA j«m wulaed. We needed aiAf the cmsast 
0d the SkkuiI IleiDiMQiCTats t& Petmaffs death^ 

6ny. Yes, j€»l 

Kme. And I haTe brooi^it their aanflion 

€hr^. [Almmi ^Mimg} Thank God! 

Ki0re. If it k done under the leadoshqi of the Shcp> 
herd cif Ijmxz. 

[Adrian niaggersK haek agaimM loom\ 

Greg. [CluUking Kardenko^ Take back thai ii 

Rare. I thou^g^ joo wished it. 

Greg. I cfid, when I bdiered the man there ^ 

Kare. He is. The most human of us all. You don^ 
\a%ffw him. Adrian, jou see that aD dqpends upcn you 

Adr. [Waving him away] Begone — aD of you! 

Man!. Come! God gave us good right aims. Weneed 
not wait for Larror's. 

Kare. But can we do without the Social Democrats? 

Greg. Yes! We have the others. Come to Breshloff's! 

[AU go exceft Korelenko^ who lingers in the door, Adriam 
siU exhausted on bench before loom] 

Adr. Sasha? 

Kore. [Turning back quiddy] Wdl? 

Adr. You have chosen? 

Kore. Between my friends and my enemies? Yes. 

Adr. Between the body and the soul. 

Kore. Soul! There is none in Russia. When we get 
possesion of our bodies we may be permitted to cultivate 

Adr. If you would wait a little, Sasha. Reforms are 
coming. The Czar will grant a constitution 

Kore. He will grant what we take, no more. And what 
do we gain if he gives us a constitution and keeps his army? 


If he gives us schools and exiles the teachers? If he gives 
us freedom and denies it to the men who have won it — 
our brothers in the dungeons? No, we want our constitu- 
tion, not the Czar's — a constitution with law and justice 
behind it, not an army. 

Adr, Is it time? There is so much ignorance yet 

Kore, Ignorance! Where is it greater than among our 
masters? We suffer as much from their stupidity as their 
oppression. I hate the ass's head more than the tyrant's! 

Adr. But the poor, illiterate peasants. Are they 

Kore. Viatka and Perm answer that! There, where 
they have been let alone, they have established the best 
governed provinces in Russia. But here, where ignorance 
is protected — do you know what will happen if Yaltowa is 
burnt? The peasants of Karitz will be led into the town 
to pillage and slaughter in the name of Christ. 

Adr, [In horror] Karitz! My poor people ! I must go 
there at once. 

Kore. There? It is only because you are here that 
Lonz will not be led into it. [Ironically] Since you can't 
be everywhere, hadn't we better devise some other means 
for the protection of the people? 

Adr. O, it is horrible! 

Kore. More horrible than you dream. A good man can 
not know how bad the world is, for he can never get away 
from himself. 

[Re-enter Manlief] 

Mard. Come, Korelenko. W^e shall be too late. 

Adr. He is not going. 

Mard. No? Ill stiffen his heart. You don't know, do 
you, that your little Vera has been taken to Petrizoff ? 

Kore. [Stares in amazement^ and clutches Adrian] Is this 
a lie? 

Adr. She has been arrested. 


Kort. Yoa let her be taken? 

Adr. I had no dioice. 

iTorr. Theie is always a dioice. Yao could have killed 
her, [Breaks down\ 

Manl. [Toudiing him] Come. 

Kare. Yes! Go on! IH ctmie! 

Manl. At BreshloTs. [ExO] 

Kore. [Savagdy^ starting np] You would save his life 
knowing that! 

Adr. What has Vent's misfortune — ^jrouis — mine — to do 
with an eternal principle? 

Rare, Damn your principle! It will put us aD into 

Adr. The princess may be able to do something for her. 

Kore. You still believe in that spy? [Adrian is silent. 
Korelenko looks at him] Forgive me. You love her. No! 
If you knew what love is you would help me! 

Adr, [Going to him as he reaches the door] Wait. I do 
know. I love her even as you love Vera, and I swear to 
you that if she stood in Vera's place my answer would be 
the same. 

Kore. [Abstractedly] You love her. [Starts suddenly 

Adr. You will stay now, Sasha? 

Kore. Now? No. There is something to do now. 


Adr, Light, light, O my God! 

[Door opens, right centre, and a woman appears] 

Woman, Can you come to Catherine Vetrova now, 

[Adrian bows his head and foUows her out. Va>sily who 
has been sitting behind the little table rear, at tim^s listening 
eagerly, at times overcome, rises and moves slowly forward, 
carrying his violin] 


VasU. [Repeats sofUy] "As impersonal as the uni- 

[Strikes two or three notes on the violin and stops , terrified. 
Dashes the instrument down and throws himself to (he fjoor^ 
sobbing] O, Vera! Vera! Vera! 


Scenes. The same. VasilstiU lying on the floor. Adrian 
enters right, crosses and attempts to rouse him. 

Adr. You must go to bed, my son. There is nothing 
for you to do. 

VasU. [Rising] Nothing for me to do? Why am I in 
the world then? 

Adr. To be our light — our song — ^to find our angels for us. 

VasU. [Looking down at his violin] It is broken. 

Adr. [Picking U up] You will mend it. 

VomI. And the heart too? [Goes to table, left front, and 
sits by it, despondent and thoughtful] We were wrong to- 
day, Adrian. I was wrong. No one has a right to hap- 
piness while others are suffering because of things that are 
in the power of man to help. The good people who forget 
what is out of sight, as if misery — or duty — were a 
question of eyes and ears, they are the most to blame. 
[Rises] If they would all help — ^just all of the good. 
[Goes to door, rear, and stands a mxyment looking out] The 
princess dances at the ball to-night. 

Adr. My boy! 

VaeU. [Coming back to Adrian] But they will not all 
help — ^not yet. Perhaps the world of peace must come 
before the world of love, not out of it ... as war has 
come before peace. The law of Moses was once the best 
law. His race saved itself by it. Has the day of its 
necessity passed, Adrian? Are we sure? 


Adr. It has passed for the man. 

Vasil. But humamty is so far behind the man. 

Adr. [Gently] That is what made Christ 

Vasil. And that is what killed him! 

[Enter a priest^ street door] 

Pried. Blessed be this house. 

Adr. Wdcome, father. 

Priest. Is death here? 

Adr. Yes, father. [Crosses to right and opens door for 
priest to enter] You have many \'isits to make to-nighL 

Priest. Many, my son. [Stops before Adrian] I have 
a message for the Shepherd of Lonz. 

Adr. [Taking letter] Thank you, father. 

Priest. Thank her that sent it, and God who made her 
heart. [Passes into room^ ^ght] 

Adr. [After looking over letter] The princess has danced 
to some purpose, my boy. Vera is free. She will be on 
her way to Odessa by morning. 

Vasil. Free.^ The princess saved her? My princess! 
Did she write it ? [ Taking letter] I will read it with kisses ! 

Adr. It must be burnt. 

Vasil. No, let me keep it — a little while. 

Adr. We must be careful. Hush — some one is coming. 

[VasU retreats to taJble^ rear. Enter Korelenko in great 

Kore. Yaltowa is on fire! We are one night too late! 
They must have heard 

Adr. On fire? Now? 

Kore. I waited with Gr^orief at BreshloflF's, the others 
went on to Yaltowa, where 

Adr. You waited for PetrizoflF? 

Kore. This ball was only to cover their scheme 

Adr. You waited with Gr^orief for PetrizoflF? 

Kore. He will pass through the village about four 


Adr. But now — O, you are saved from that thing! 

Kore. Yes. If we kill him now the fire will seem 
only a part of the deed. It will help them fix the lie 
upon us. 

Adr. Too late, thank God! 

Kore. You think of nothing but PetrizoflF! What of the 
people now dying in Yaltowa? Dying because he lives? 
Go see the horrors there! The reactionists are every 
where in the streets, disguised as revolutionists, looting 
and murdering! Your Karitz peasants are being turned 
into beasts 

[Adrian gives a deep groan and sits overcome, by table 
froTii, left] 

Kore. It is not too late! Our friends — Russia — ^free- 
dom — ^yet may live if you will help us! Your name will 
justify PetrizoflF's death to the world. With the loss of 
their chief the reactionists will be in confusion, before 
they can recover you can organize the great leagues into a 

Adr. You are mad to think such power is in me. 

Kore. You don't know your power! You can do it — 
you only — ^and it must be done now — before the war in 
the East is over — ^before the Czar can make new promises 
— ^give us the mockery of a constitution, and fool half of 
us back to allegiance — ^before 

Adr. [Rising, shaken] It can not rest with me. One 
man can not make destiny. 

Kore. Yes, when that man is you — when the time is 
now! Absolutism is at its ebb. Will you wait till the tide 
gathers and flows over us again in waves of blood? 

Adr. [To himself, walking] Are there then two codes? 
One for the man, one for the race? And when they con- 
flict, the man must yield? 

Kore. Codes! The question of a man's right to his 
breath is settled outside of ethics! O, Adrian, brother. 


be a man to-night and not a preacher! Never in the his- 
tory of the world has there been a revolution so ripe, so 
terrible, without a leader to march at its head. 

Adr. Humanity has dropped the club. It will drop 
the gun. Even the soldiers are throwing it down. And 
shall / pick it up 

Kore. Only for a day! PetrizoflF alone stands between 
us and the army. Vitelkin, the next in power, is ready to 
join us. But he is suspected already, and must soon re- 
sign — or be poisoned. If we remove PetrizoflF now thirty 
regiments will come to us with Vitelkin, and others will fol- 
low until the Czar is without an army. In a month — ^a fort- 
night — ^the revolutionists will be masters of the nation 

Adr. Masters of the nation ! \Walks awat/y and returns^ 
much calmer^ to Korelenko] If it is true that only the life 
of PetrizoflF stands between the revolutionists and triumph, 
he can not long be the sole barrier. He must see his folly 
and change his 

Kore. [Furums] Were he to turn angel now, he should 
die for his past sins ! 

Adr. [Sadly] I see. We should unfetter the avenging 
lion, not loosen the dove of peace, with PetrizoflF's death* 

Kore. I did not mean that. You know it was the anger 
of a moment. [Kneeling] For the last time I beg you — 
in the name of all that redeems man from the beast 

Adr. [Very pale] Rise, Korelenko. Heal ye first your- 
selves. Out of your diflFerences, your divisions, you make 
your master. If for one day enmity should sleep, if for 
one day every lover of freedom should love his neighbor, 
in that day the oppressor would fall. Rise ! I will not do it. 

Kore. [Springing up] You will ! 

Adr. Will? 

Kore. Yes. The princess Sophie Travinski is betrayed 
to PetrizoflF. I hoped to prevaU without telling you, and 
spare your heart what mine suflFers. 


Adr. Betrayed? 

Kore, She has aided to-night in the escape of a prisoner 
taken by PetrizoflF's order. He will know all by morning 
if he lives, 

Adr. This lie will not tempt me, Sasha. I can hardly 
believe you have uttered it. [FearJvUy] I might have 
believed you. 

Kore. I am prepared for your doubt. Gr^orief waits 
outside. He will support my word [going to door], 

Adr. Nol I will not see him again. It is true. [Crosses 
uncertainly and sits on bench before loom] O, is there no 
end to this night? 

Kore. A princess Ghedimin went to Yakutsk for a 
lesser oflFence. 

Adr. Don't — don't speak. 

Kore. [After watching him a moment] If PetrizoflF dies 
he will never know. 

Adr. There is no time to warn her. 

Kore. Then the evidence will go to PetrizoflF at once. 

Adr. You would do that? 

Kore. No, but Gregorief would. He is waiting for your 

Adr. My answer? 

Kore. You know how to save her. 

Adr. [Rising] How? 

Kore. Join us. 

Adr. [Sinking down again] You might be merciful now, 

K(yre. [Unbelievingly] You will not save her? 

Adr. Not that way. 

Kore. There is no other. 

Adr. Then she 

Kore. Adrian, I can not believe you. You will save her ! 

Adr. How can I now? The struggle is over. For a 
heavenly motive I refused to join you; I can not consent 


now for an earthly one. O, if you had not told me! If 
you had pleaded a little longer — [Realizes what he is say- 
ing^ and looks at Korelenko with a bitter smile] You see it 
is impossible. 

Kore. [Raging] I will kill you! 

Adr. Do, Sasha. 

Kore. [Turning from him] Vera! My little girl! 

Adr. [Rising suddenly] O, I have not told you 

Kore. What? Quick! 

Adr. Vera is free. Read this — ^where — ^Vasil, the letter ! 

[Vasily who sits by the small table, silently lays the letter 
upon it. Korelenko crosses and snatches it up] 

Adr. [As Korelenko reads] You see they will wait for 
you on the PetoflF road until two o'clock. You must go at 
once. The princess has arranged for you to journey with 
Vera if you wish, and you must now, for to remain here 
means imprisonment on the Yaltowa charge. [Korelenko 
is dumby looking at the letter] Don't lose hope, Sasha. 
You can still help us in America — ^perhaps do more for 
the cause there than here — ^and you will have Vera 

Kore. [Strangely] You muM save her now, Adrian. 

Adr. She is saved. Haven't you read? Don't you see? 

Kore. Not Vera, the princess. It was I who betrayed 
her. And it was Vera she saved. I was so sure of you. 
You said 

Adr. I am sorry for you, Korelenko. You have sold 
the angel in your service. 

Kore. No! You did it! You deceived me! You 
swore you loved her! 

Adr. I swore the truth. 

Kore. Bah! Such love! Prove it! Prove it! [Hur- 
ries to the little cabinet in wall, rear, unlocks it, takes out a 
bomb from his pocket, places it in the cabinet, locks the door 
and returns to Adrian with key] Prove it ! I am going to 
Vera. Gr^orief vnSX wait at BreshloflF's. Send him this 


key within an hour and he will know what to do. [Offers 
key to Adrian^ who looks at him silently, Korelenko 
throws key to the floor] There it is ! Send it, or her fate 
will be on your soul, not mine! [Eooit] 

Adr. O, Infinite Love, why didst make us as men to try 
us as gods? . . . And I might have saved her. Might? 
. . . [Goes slowly to the key, stoops and picks it up. As he 
raises his head his glance falls on the portrait of the Saviour 
on waU in front of him] Unto seventy times seven. [He 
drops the key and takes a step or two toward the picture] 
Thou too wert man! . . . [As he gazes at the portrait 
VasU comes softly forward, takes up the key, returns to 
table, and sits looking at the key as if fa^scinaied. Curtain] 


Scene 1. Same room. VasU dsleep on bench^ rear, left. 
Adrian watching by him. 

Adr. If I had saved him this day . . . this night! But 
now . . . what peace can heal him? [Rises and v>alks] 
Lord» Lord, from out these burning days, let one, just one, 
go free! As thou lovest thy world, let him be spared, let 
him be spared! 

[Enter Sophie^ street door. Adrian looks ai her uncom- 
prehendingly. She crosses to him^ 

Adr. Why have you come? 

Soph. To warn you! 

Adr. The boy — do not wake him. 

[Sophie crosses to lefty rear^ Adrian following. She looks 
down at VasU^ stoops and tenderly kisses Aim, then moves 
away vnth Adrian. VasU opens his eyes and looks after them] 

Adr. The last two hours have been terrible, but be rests 

Soph. You must take him with you. 

Adr. With me? 

Soph. I have come from the baU. 

Adr. I see« 

Soph. Orloff is a very weak man. I found out that 
you are to be arrested to-night. 

Adr. It has come then. 

Soph. Is Kordenko going with Vera? 

Adr. I Ik^ so. He has gone to meet her. 



Soph. Then you can't take his place. We must think 
of some other way — ^and quickly. 

Adr. Not for me. It is you who must go. You are 
betrayed to Petrizoff. 

Soph. I hoped you wouldn't hear that. I am in no 

Adr. [Between fear and relief] No danger? 

Soph. [With a half smile] By and by you will believe 
that I can take care of myself. 

[Enter Korelenko with Vera] 

Soph. Not gone? 

Adr. You are lost. 

Soph. Why did you bring her back? You have no right 
to destroy her life! 

Vera. I would not go. My place is with Alexander. 
[Softly] You ought to understand that, princess. 

Soph. [To Korelenko] She is a child. She did not 
know. You should have gone with her. 

Kore. Your highness, that was impossible. 

Soph. It was not! All was prepared 

Kore. [To Adrian] Does she know? 

Soph. That I am betrayed? Yes, but the man en- 
trusted with the evidence happened to be a devoted ser- 
vant of my own — [Alexander groans] He will fall! And 
you — ^Adrian — ^what is the matter? 

Kore. [Steadying himself against the loom and dasping 
Vera] I have thrown our lives away — ^mine and Vera's — 
that is all. 

Soph. Why couldn't you go with her? 

Kore. Because it was I who betrayed you. And could 
I accept life and love at your hands? 

Soph. [Shrinking] You? But why 

Kore. I can not answer. Come, Vera, to your grand- 

[Exeunt Korelenko and Vera^ rights centre] 


Soph. O, wfaj did he do it? 

Adr. I can tell you. 

8aph. Then why? 

Adr. Because he bdieved — O, Sophie, bdoved, b^ie 
I speak, look at me with the love in your eyes as I saw 
it first. I did not know it was for me then. L^ me see 
it now while I know you are mine — ^mine! Yes, yes, you 
love me! 

iSopb. Ah, Adrian, I am afraid I love nothing dse. 

[VasU covers his eyes with his arm] 

Adr, And you wiU kiss me once? 

Soph. Once? 

Adr. As if we were parting forever, Sophie. [She em- 
braces and kisses hdm. He moves away from her] Now I 
will tell you why Alexander could not answer you, and 
why I can. He betrayed you believing that I could and 
would save you. 

Soph. And you 

Adr. Could, but would not. 

Soph. [Moving back] What are you saying, Adrian? 

Adr. I could have saved you but I would not. Isn't it 

Soph. [Moving back tiU she stands in dim light] No — 
I don't 

Adr. I would not consent to Petrizoff 's death. 

Soj^. [Lifting her head] O! [Regarding him steadily] 
You refused your consent when you knew that his death 
would save me? 

Adr. [Lowering his eyes] I did. 

Soj^. He, a murderer, whose death has been justly due 
a thousand times, and I, innocent, the woman you say 
you love 

Adr. [Bowing his headj not meeting her look] I have 
told you the truth. 

Soph. And that is why we part forever? 


Adr. That is why. 

Soph. Because I could not forgive you? 

Adr. No. I should want more than forgiveness. I 
should want you to understand. 

Soph. That you were right? 

Adr. Yes. 

Soph. And I couldn't understand? 

Adr. [Still hopelessly, not looking at her] No. 

Soph. [Coming nearer] And we part forever? [He 
makes no answer. She comes nearer] Forever? [He is 
still silent. She comes near enough to turn his face to hers] 
Forever, Adrian? 

Adr. Sophie! [Takes her in his arms] 

Soph. O, do you think I will ever leave you now? 

Adr. You do imderstand! 

Soph. [Smiling] That I can never be in your way? 
You will always sacrifice me first? Yes, I knew that all 
the time, but you didn't. 

Adr. And it makes no difference? 

Soph. How can it when I love you? 

Adr. I wonder if God understands women. 

Soph. O, some of them. The rest He made to puzzle 
over when eternity hangs on His hands. 

Adr. [Kissing her] Heaven-heart! 

Soph. [Relea^ng herself] That must wait. We haven't 
a minute 

[They hear steps outside, and stand waiting. Orloff and 
two guards enter] 

Orl. It is my turn to be surprised, your highness. I 
suppose you are here to assure this prisoner of safety. 

Soph. What prisoner? 

Orl. Adrian Lavrov. 

[Ouards put fetters on Adrian^s wrists] 

Adr. For what crime am I arrested? 

Orl. [To gu<irds] Keep him here until I return. 


Adr. For what crime? 

Chi. For crime sufficient. 

Adr. I insist upon knowing. 

OrL You wiU know soon enough — ^in the next worid. 
They say everything is known there. 

Soph. He is ashamed to tell you. You are arrested as 
chief instigator in the burning of Yaltowa. 

Adr. Is it possible? 

Soph. More than possible. It is so. That is the crime 
you will die for unless you are rescued by a rising of the 

Adr. That must not be! 

Orl. Don't worry. We are giving your friends enough 
to think about. 

[Sophie has gradtuiUy neared the door. Orloff steps he- 
fore her] 

Orl. Pardon me, your highness. You invited me into 
your carriage a few hours ago. I beg to return the cour- 

Soph. Let me pass! 

Orl. You will leave here only under my escort. 

Soph. I know where I shall die then. 

Orl. You have cost me one prisoner. 

Soph. What proof have you? 

Orl. None — ^yet. But I know it. 

Soph. O wonderful sagacity! 

Orl. And I shall lay my reasons before Petrizoff. 

Soph. I suppose you believe, too, that I would rescue 
the Shepherd of Lonz? 

Orl. I shall at least not lose sight of him until he is in 
prison. [Sophie turns her back upon Orloff] You must 
come with me or stay here under guard. I don't promise 
you as pleasant a journey as you gave me, for I shall not 
be at so much trouble to please. I shall not even ask you 
to let me repeat the little kiss 


Soph. Sir! 

Orl. On your hand, which you so kindly permitted. 
[Sophie again attempts to pass him] Will your highness 
take my arm to the carriage? We have only a short dis- 
tance to drive before meeting PetrizofiF. [Looking at his 
watch] He ought to be almost here. 

Soph. I will stay here. 

Orl. In shackles? 

Soph. [Holding out her arms] Yes. 

Orl. Stay then. But I will not bind you. 

Soph. No, I might not forgive you that if it turns out 
that you have made a fool's mistake. 

Orl. There is no mistake, as you will learn after I have 
seen Petrizoff. [To guards] No conversation between 
prisoners. [To Sophie] Let me assure you that these 
guards can be trusted. [Exit] 

[Adrian sits in the large chair, a gnard stationed on each 
side of him. Sophie sits on low stool before him, and lays 
her head upon his knees] 

A guard. [Anocionsly] It is not permitted to conmiu- 

Soph. Then don't, sir! 

[Silence for a moment, then the noise of horses approaching] 

Soph. Ah— Petrizoff! 

[VasU rises cautiously. The guards have their hacks 
to him and the door. He stands on the bench, unlocks cab- 
inet, takes out the bomb, puts it under his blouse, and goes 
softly out] 

Adr. Sophie — Sophie — you do not r^ret 

Soph. No, no! Don't, Adrian! Forget all but love — 
love — ^love! This is the last — ^the last 

[Sound of trampling without, shrieks and noises. They 
start and listen. Korelenko runs through the room from 
right and out at street door. Vera comes on after him. 
Adrian and Sophie rise and look qu£stioningly at each 


other. The gtmrds lift their weapons. Adrian looks to- 
ward bench and sees thai Vasil is gone] 

Adr. Vasfl! [To Vera] Is he in there? 

Vera. No, Adrian. 

Adr. He has gone out. He will be hurt. [Looks 
sudderdy at cabinety which is open] Who has been 
here? Gr^orief? [Stares at cainnet. Sophisms gaze 
follows his. He turns to her, speaking sUmly] There 
was a bomb in that cabinet. Could it be possible — 

Soph. [ChnUy] I am afraid it is true. 

Adr. Never! Not him! 

Soph. Adrian! Beloved! 

Adr. [Not heeding her] Vasil! Vasil! [Steygers to 
seai by table^ fronts lep. Otuirds keep by him. Enter 
Kordenko followed by Gregorief and others] 

Vera. [Running to Korelenko] Vasil — ^where is he? 

[Kofdenko is silent] 

Sofph. Is he hurt? 

Koire. The boy — or 

Sop*- The boy. 

Kore. Not hurt, but takai. 

[Adrian throws his fettered arms upon Ihe table and lays 
his face upon them] 

Soph. Is Petrizoff dead? 

Kore. Only a wound. This night bdongs to hdl. 0> 
if it could have been as we planned! 

Soph. No one is killed? 

Kore. No one but Qiloff . 

Soph. OAoB dead! \JTnder her hmM\ Then I am 

JCorr. Gods« if only it had been Petrizoff! ffis escape 
is unbelievable. [Twmimg to Adrian] What says the 


Soph. Don't! See his fetters? 

Kore. Ah! When 

Greg, [Crossing to Adrian] Fortunate man! Now he 
may develop his soul ! 

Soph. How can you? 

Greg. How could he, madam? How could he? Do 
you fcttow what he has done? He has killed every man 
that died in Yaltowa to-night — ^he has slaughtered every 
child — ^he has outraged every woman ! What else? Free- 
dom offered him her hand and he struck her to earth! 
He has scattered her forces — ^he has strengthened her 
oppressor — ^and the rivers of blood that must now drench 
Russia shall flow from his door! But — ^ha! ha! he has 
saved his soul ! 

[Enier Irtenieff, attended] 

Irtenieff. I want the prisoner, Adrian Lavrov. [No one 
answers. He sees Adrian and crosses to him] What is 
your crime? [Adrian does not raise his head] 

Soph. None. 

Irten. You are arrested for the burning of Yaltowa? 
All prisoners taken on that charge are free by the order 
of Petrizoff . 

Soph. Take off his chains! 

[At a sign from Irtenieff guards unfetter Adrian, who 
does not seem to know what they are doing] 

Kore. Such an order from Petrizoff? What does it 

Irten. It means that he is frightened into saying his 
prayers for a day or two. 

Soph. Adrian, my dear one, look up ! 

Irten. [To Korelenko] And if you've a particular regard, 
as I've heard, for the little beauty there, you'd better get 
her out of Russia before his scare rubs off. 

Kore. Thank you, sir. 


[ExeufU Irtenieff, meriy and guards left by Orloff. Davm 
has been gradually breaking, showing through door and 
window^ rear. Sophie continues to talk softly to Adrian 
and finally he raises his head] 

Adr. They will bury the sunshine of the world — shut up 
his golden years in darkness 

Soph. We will free him, Adrian. We will live to set 
him free. 

[Zarkoff^ and VasU guarded^ appear ai dooT\ 

Zarkoff. [Stepping in] Now ^ow your accomplices. 
{VasU siands on the Areshold, sileni, looking eagerly at 
the faces in the room] You swore you would tdl who 
hdped you if we brought you here. 

Vasa. I will. 

Zar. [PoinHng to Gregorief] Is he one? 

VasU. Lei me take my time. You wouldn't hurry 
on your way to Schlusselbuig, would you? I must 
^peak to my friends first. Adrian — father, brother, 
master — the songs have all c<»ne back. Whoi I only 
looked on, doing nothing to hdp, the music st<^)ped, but 

Zar. Too many words, sir! 

Vasil. Now I am doing my pari, I have a r^fal to my 
soiig. Tbey will take me to 

Zar. Slop that! 

VasU. And under the stormy waters my heart wiD be 

Zor. Say your good-bys, and be done! 

VasU. Put TOUT ear to my violin, and yoa wiD hear 

Zor. Come*! 

FomI. Yoo must yield somethii^ too, Adrian. Step 
back to the law of Moses for vantage if yoa can leap to 
Clurisl with the waAd in your aims. 

Zor. Yoo have l»rofcen your oath! 

VasU. I have not. I wiD teH you. 


Zar. Speak then. Who are your confederates? 

VasU. There is but one. 

Zar. Who? Where is he? 

VasU. He is here — ^in this room — ^he is in every prison 
in Russia — ^he is in every heart that knows the meaning of 
love — ^but if you want to arrest him [stepping back into the 
sunligkt and pointing upward] you must go up there, for 
he is God. 

Zar. That for your blasphemy! [Strikes VasU on the 
rrumth vrith his sword\ OS with him! 

[Giuirds take VasU off. . Zarkoff follows. SUence broken 
by a groan from Adrian] 

Soph. Beloved, beloved, he shaQ be free! The whole 
world shall help us! 

Greg. May we knock down the prisons now, Lavrov? 

Adr. O God, in all thy ages can this be justified? 

Kore. You can justify it in a moment. Adrian Lavrov, 
this is your call to war. If you respond, his life is well 

Adr. War? [Staggers up] Yes. And I will use the 
strongest of earthly weapons, the arms of peace. The 
powers that upbuild are as invincible as the universe. 
By them it stands. Only by their toleration do the forces 
of destruction live. Toleration? Only by the support of 
the powers of peace do the powers that destroy exist. Is 
not the army of the Czar fed by us, clothed by us, paid by 
us? And if we refusic to give, must it not beg of us? If 
he who works not shall not eat, what is the doom of the 
destroyer? The sower shall not sow for him, the reaper 
shall not reap for him, the builder shall not build for him, 
the physician shall not heal him, the scholar shall not 
teach him, the lawyer shall not plead for him, no trade 
shall supply him, no craft shall assist him, no art shall 
amuse him. The mills shall be silent, the wheels shall 
not turn, the wires shall be dumb, until he cries out 


''Peace, dioo ait master: let me be ao mradi as Omj 

A revohdiamsi, Ri^! Tins, too, is war! 

Adr, Yes. The new war of a new day. Not in mad- 
ness hmlii^ iMxnbs, but gi^ii^ our pity as we take our 

Man, And wiio wiD pay your soldiers of peace? Most 
not their w<Mnen and difldren eat? 

Adr, The money we now pay to our brotheis to strike 
us shall pot biead in our months. 

A revoluHonui, Keep the taxes! 

Man, Yon join as at last! 

Adr, No. We join each other . . . under the <xily 
onconqnerable power. Gather an army and go fwth 
with gons, and yoo may be laid in the dusL But the 
gathefed forces of peace are as the fingers on God's 
hand, one with His strmgth, one with His will. Frioids, 
friends, we have been searching earth for the weapcm 
already in our grasp. The woman at the loom, the 
mujik in the fidd, the workman on the housetc^, the 
man at the wire, the throttle, the whed, hold it in 
their hands. To know its might — to use it together — that 
is all. Together! O, they must see it — as I do now! I 
will gather my disciples, we will knock at every d(x>r and 
preach the gospd of united peace until all our unions are 
one union, all our bodies one body, with one breath, <me 
heart, one head. In barin and peasant, mechanic and 
noble. Christian and Jew, finn, Pde, Czech, Serb, Geor- 
gian, Tatar, must be bom as in one man the ccmsdous 
strength of peace. And to its deliverance I give my life, 
my soul! [Sits dawn. Sophie leans over him] . . . Yes 
... he shall be free. 

Greg. [Who has been searching VasiTs violin^ comes 
forward with a paper in his hand] They shall off be free! 


We will make no terms, we will accept no constitution, till 
every dungeon door be open, till we hold in our arms the 
brothers who have made freedom no longer a dream of 
the night but a song of the morning ! To them we owe the 
liberty that is dawning, and shall we tread the earth they 
give us while they perish beneath it? Hear our latest 
martyr — ^the youngest of us all. Hear the "Voice of 

We are deep, we are deep 

Beneath your swift feet 
That pass and yet pass 

With unfaltering beat; 
But life has no sound 

That can deaden our moans. 
And no measure of ground 

Can bury our bones, 

Can bury our bones. 

We have given ye all 

But our lingering breath, — 
The light from our eyes. 

The prayer at our death. 
The wine of the days. 

Drink it up, drink it up! 
But our hearts, as the grape. 

We pressed for the cup. 

We pressed for the cup. 

Through the measureless sun 

Your seasons shall sway. 
Pluck the fruit as your own, 

Ye have nothing to pay; 



DIONYSIUS, the Younger, tyrant of Syrcunm 
DION, a Syracusan noble 
ARISTOCLES, {h£ Athenian friend of Dion 
OCRASTES, a young lord, attached to Dion 
HERACIJDES, admiral of Syracuse 
PHTTJJSTUS, an ambitioua courtier 
CALLORUS, ^GISTHUS, fri^mda of Heradides 
SPEUSIPPUS, from Athens, friend of Aristodes 
PANTHUS, captain of Dion*s Grecian guards 
DOMENES, captain of the tyrants guards 
TIMOLEON. ASCANDER, lards of Syracuse 
BRENTIO, dave to Dion 
TICHUS, dave to Aristodes 

ARATEA. wife of Dion 
NAURESTA, a noUe lady 
THEANO, daughter of Nauresta 
METHONE, woman to Nauresta 

SddierSt citimns, messengers, dancers, Ac. 

Scene: Syracuse, SieSy 
Tms: 3561?. C. 



Scene 1. A pavilion in vineyard near Dion*s haaae. 
Enter Dion and Ariatocles^ followed by Brentio and 

Dion. That Dionyslus bends the neck of pomp 
To do you honor, shows an eye yet false 
To your true merit. 

Aris, But 'tis better, Dion, 

Than to have found his frowning archers planted 
Point to our landing ship. 

Dion. He'd not have dared 

To greet you so, but this vain, strutting show 
Wrongs you no less. 

Aris. Himself far more. 

Dion. Ay, friend. 

The mines of earth into one cofifer poured 
Would not enrich a spendthrift or insure 
Him linen for a shroud. If you can not 
Prevail with him — If? Nay, you will. All ifs 
Lie down before your wooing argument. 

Aris. I knew his father when the years had stripped 
His agued soul, and his untutored age 
Looked from a crabbed eye upon the world. 
For him I would not have a second time 
Foregone Athenian groves, but youth that keeps 
An open door to Wisdom as to Folly, 
May even of Virtue make at last a guest. 



Dion. My hope is bom again, now you are here. 
When I have seen pick-thank philosophers 
At ear of Dionysius, seeding his mind — 
Wherein my toil had set fair Ceres' garden — 
With foul and flaunting weeds to overrun 
My coimtry, I have been tempted to forego 
The idle reaping, uplay the soil itself, 
And with some few and trusted followers 
Rouse a new Spring to breed us gracious harvest. 

Aris. But he who strikes at heritage gives riot 
Fair leave to play above his trampled grave. 
And rather than usurp a wrong with right. 
You bend your strength to make the wrong a virtue. 

Dion. Ay, so the young tyrant has my knee, but thus 
To keep my mind at bow and flexure proves 
My patience 'fore the gods. Welcome the day 
When I may honor Truth in honoring 
The head of rule in my beloved city! 
But now no more of state austerities; 
I would be glad one hour and nurse the joy 
Of seeing thee. Thou'st brought me half my heart 
That kept with thee in Athens. 

[Enter Brentio] 

Bren. My lord. 

The mistress comes. 

Dion. In happy season. 

Aris. Mistress? 

Dion. My wife. 

Aris. Art married, Dion? 

Dion. Since you sailed; 

To Aratea, Dionysius' sister, 
But as unlike him as the eternal sky 
To moody ocean. 

Aris. Married? That the word? 


Dion. Fast bound, indeed, to one who will not break 
Our souls' knit circle. She is Virtue's servant, 
And wears her fairest flower, beauty. 

Tick. [AsidCf as Dion looks off left to see if Aratea 
approaches] Ha! 

A beauty! I will warrant it. There be 
Some ugly wives i' the world but no man married 'em. 

Dion. [To Brentio] Come, sir. What entertainment is 
[Dion talks amde with slave] 

Arts. So goes my friend. He who was happiest lost 
In the vast solitude of a noble book. 
Or Truth's deep-pathed discourse. A wife. Is this 
My journey's end? That little haven whence 
No harbored sail dares sea? Port of delay, 
And pocket of emprise, whose shallows oft 
Have sunk the mightiest hope of greatest states! 
[Enter a servant] 

Ser. [To Dion] My lord, the captain of the harbor 

Dion. [To Aristocles] One moment, friend. 

[Exit, right] 

Aris. That lordly soul a-dream 

In woman's arms! That heaven-cleaving mind 
At fireside tattle with a gossip dame! 
Now comes the sunward ranging eagle down 
To sit by nest, a tame prudential spouse. 
Where sped the proud ambassador of mom 
On wings that clipped the burning orient. 
Hovers the cautious mate at pains to find 
A yoimgling's breakfast. 

[Re-enter Dion] 

Dion. Come, my friend. You're skilled 

In harbor matters, and I need your word. 

[Exeunt Dion and Aristocles, right] 


Bren. Is your wise man married? 

Tick. That's a fool's question. 

Bren. True, but — Peace ! Yonder comes the mistress. 
I must be oflf. " Entertainment," quoth my lord. Which 
means a gentle sally of honest nymphs, and a sort of mild, 
virtuous music at hide-and-seek in the vineyard. You 
must to court if you would know how wenches can trip 
in Sicily. Come, brother stranger. 111 take care o' 
your enjoyments. You shall see us with both eyes, I 
promise you. 

[Exeunt Brentio and Tichus. Enter, left, Aratea, Theano^ 
Nauresta, Ocrastes and PhiUistus] 

Ara. I'm not convinced, Phillistus. Who may search 
The wreckage 'neath a smile, or count the tears 
Deep in a stoic eye? Let us believe 
Aristocles is not in nature cold 
As his philosophy. 

Oc. Ill freeze my sword 

A winter night, then warm his heart by 't. Cold! 

The. You've seen him? 

Oc. At the landing. 

The. Now we hear! 

What is this marvel like? 

Oc. A frozen god. 

Apollo cast in snow. 

PhU. Sicilian suns 

Are warm. 

Oc. He's proof 'gainst sim. Why, he doth cool 
His liver with his blood, — ^hath not a stir 
Of whetted sense, be 't anger, love or pain. 
To prick him mortal. 

Ara. He is young to be 

So true a sage. 

The. They come. Prepare, O eyes. 

To wonder! 


[Re-enter Dion and Aristocles] 

Ara. [Advancing] Welcome, noble Athenian. 
Your fame has oft made voyage to our shore, 
And we rejoice that now you follow it. 
Please know my friends. 

Dion. [To Aratea, as Aristocles greets the others] 
Why is Phillistus here? 
Are we so poor, my dame, the enemy 
Must sauce our feast? Nay, nay! 

Ara. I hope, my lord. 

My brother's subjects are not enemies. 

PhU. [Who has stood apart, approaches Aristocles] Wel- 
come to Sicily, although your breath is somewhat frosty 
for our warmer pleasures. 

Ara. [As Dion frowns] The frost that draws the poison, 
saves the flower, you mean, my good Phillistus. 

Aris. A fair interpreter! 

Phil. Ay, when we know not our meaning, let a woman 
find it. 

Oc. Which she will do the more readily if we mean 

The. True, her wit is generous. Shell always bait a 
hook that angles painfully. 

Oc. Though she, good soul, must hang herself upon it. 

[Theano and Ocrastes move a^side, bantering. Aratea 
turns to Phillistus and Nauresta] 

Dion. [To Aristocles] Ocrastes is a youth full dear to me. 
Orphaned at birth, I've bred him from a babe. 
He is of bravest heart, and must leap high 
Although he fall o'er heaven. 

Aris. And the maid? 

Dion. The daughter of my brother some years dead. 
Her bloom might make e'en priestly blood forget 
To pace with vows, but she is true, and kneels 
To wisdom's star. Hast yet no eye for woman? 


Aris. For all things fair. That is my staff 'gainst age. 
We're young so IcMig as we love beauty. 

[Aratea moves to Dion and AriglodeSj leaving Naureda 
and Pkillistus together] 

Nau. See 

This feathered snuggery? 

PhU. A vine-lark's nest. 

Nau. Touch 't not. Well lose a song by you. Tls 
These dare-wings build about our heads, when they 
So fear us. 

PhU. Farther. Birds are not my study. 
[They move aside] 

Nau. Frowning again, my lord? 

PhU. And reason for it 

I like not yonder pairing. 

[Ijooks at Theano and Ocrastes] 

Nau. Would that your plans 

Might leave them happy! 

PhU. False? Ill not bdieve it 

Of thee, Nauresta. I've given thee confidence 
As open as the ungated dawn; unlocked 
My secrets; fixed within your breast, as in 
My own, my darling purpose! 

Nau. Twss my counsd 

In Aratea's ear that brought you hither. 
And why these daris: reproaches where I hoped 
To see the color of your gratitude? 

PhU. What's done, though ne'er so wdl, but makes 
a way 
For what's to do, Nauresta. 

Nau. Ah, my lord, 

I know not how to {dease you. 

PhU. Learn. To me 


Be wax, and adamant to all touch else. 
Mad Dionysius is in revels lost; 
Dion is far too stem for common love; 
Between the two my hope makes fair ascent 
Above the clouds of state. Tis I must reign.. 
Then we, my queen, must see our daughter wed 
To some strong noble who will prop our power. 
Ocrastes' love is bound inseverably 
To Dion. Keep him from Theano, sweet. 
Look on them now. See how she bends to him? 

Nau. Nay, she is modest, sir. 

Phil. But mark! He speaks, 

And crimson runs her cheek, as though his voice 
Did paint it magically, which bids him fair. 
For know you not that love on blushes feeds 
As plundering bees on roses? He is sure! 
TVill task you hard to ward from port who bears 
So bold a sail. 

Nau. But I will do it. Ay! 

Phil. Again you are all mine! [Nauresta rruyves to 
Theano and Ocrastes] Thus do I woo 

The mother, with the daughter in my eye. 

Ara. [To Aristocles] Ah, yes, I know youTl cast fond 
sighs toward Athens, 
And in the night look through the dark to her — 
A myrtle-crowned bride without her lord — 
But yet our land, too poor in Ceres' smile 
To outwoo Academe, may show some charm 
To ease your banishment. 

Arts. O, *tis an isle 

That 'neath the eye of Zeus might bloom nor blush 
Save at his praise; yet holds within itself 
Treasure that ornaments its cruder worth 
As gems make eyes in stone, — a friend whose hand 


Leads Virtue's own, and woman's beauty crowned 
By starry mind as I ne'er hoped to see 
'nil at the port of the immortal world 
My eyes should meet my dreams. 

Dion. What now? So soon, 


Ara. My lord? 

Dion. I knew she'd find 

The gate to your forgiveness. 

Phil. [Aside] My tongue creaks 
Amid this piping. 

Dion. True, she's fair enough 

For praise, but I'm a plain prose lover, friend, 
Nor, like a doting osier o'er a brook. 
Pore on her features, wasting oil of time 
That should bum high in task of gods and state. 

PhU. [Aside] 111 cast a pebble in this summer pool. 
[To Aristocles] Sir, you will find our Dionysius worthy. 
The proud descendant of a prouder sire. 
Upholding well his shining heritage. 

Aris. Worthy I hope he is, but even kings. 
My lord, may wrap them in humility. 
Nor boast descent, when demigods of earth 
But bastards are in heaven. 

Dion. Ay, some of us 

Should curvet not so high, bethinking of 
Our audience in the clouds; for this brave world 
Is but a theatre whereto the gods 
For pastime look, and whoso makes most show 
Of plumes careering and proud-lifting stride 
Is but the greatest anticker of all 
To their high eyes. A little music, friends. 

Phil. And in good time! A sermon then a song. 

[Enter dancers, the two in advance bearing urns which 

: ihey place on a small altar^ singing] 


Bring cedar dark. 

And ruby-wood. 
Bring honeyed-bark, 

The Naiad's food. 
Till altar flame 

And incense rise 
In friendship's name 

To seek the skies. 

[Chorus by maidens bearing wreaths of dive and laurel] 

Myrtle leave on Venus' tree. 
Nor the Bacchic ivy see; 
Olive bring, and laurel bough, 
And may hours that gather now 
Of his years fair token be! 

[They bow before Aristocles and continue dancing] 

Aris. [Watching Aratea] The sun has made a shrine of 
her bright hair 
Where eyes would worship, but her fairer face 
Lures their devotion ere they gaze one prayer. 

PhU. [Crossing to Aristocles] Aristocles, I swear yon 
dancer's foot. 
Curving the air, marks beauty of more worth 
Than all the fantasies of dream you write 
On heavens conjectural. 

Dion. [Angrily to PhiUistus] It suits you well 
To treat the theme deific with bold tongue. 
No thought so high but you would trick it out 
In shrugging sophistry! 

PhU. [Going] Farewell. The court 
Has always welcome for me. 

Dion. Farewell, my lord. 

And Ceres send you grace! 


Phil. [Turning] Beware, proud Dion! 
The topmost limb makes an mieasy seat. 
Who perches there must take account of winds. 
Lest dignity go forfeit to surprise. 
By Jaso, sir, your cause is fallen sick. 
Nor Athens emptying all her wits may heal it! 


Ara. My lord, a little patience 

Dion. Patience, madam! 

Would words were meat for swords! I'd had his crc^! 
[Enter a royal messenger] 

Mess. Most noble Dion, greeting from the king. 
He b^s you'll bring the Athenian sage to banquet. 
And see some shows within the royal gardens. 

Dion. More revds! More? This cracks the very^ass 
Of our fair prospect, wher^ we saw him sit 
\^^th listening ear to wisdom. 

[To messenger] No! 

Ara. My lord 

Dion. Say to the tyrant 111 not feast with him. 

[£2^ messenger] 

Ara. May I be bold to say this is not wdl? 
I fear, my lord, your stem, imperious port 
Is much against you in our easeful city. 
If on occasion you would smooth your brow 
To pati^it loiience you in time would win 
An hearts to wear the KTery <rf your purpose. 
That now shows cold and sober for thdr mood. 

Dion. Not so! The baadii^ tree neW kissed the 
I win not stoop! What? Flaunt his spc»t befwe 
A sage's eye, who cmnes at his own suit 
To tettch him truth? 

Arts. Yet we must not foiget 

Discoorteoos truth is hated; Tehemence, 


The whip of argument, but frights conviction. 
Pardon so stale a word. 

Ara. But 'tis so true! 

The winding zephjT, not the hurrying gale. 
Finds out the hidden rose. My brother's heart 
Has yet a grain of good, which gentleness 
May find and touch to life. 

Dion. It was the slight, 

The unseemly slight to you, Aristocles, 
So chafed me. 

Aris. Think but of our charge, my friend, 
Fair Syracuse. 

Dion. So, so! I say no more. 

Your wisdom be to me Athene's shield 
Whereby 111 see to strike this head of wrong 
Nor be devoured. Come, we will walk abroad. 
But not to court. 

Aris. [To Aratea] My wishes wait on thee. 
May Fortune dress thee for a second self 
Till eyes mistaking seek thy face for hers. 

Ara. Nay, let her wed thee, and like loving wife 
Give all her portion, then empty-handed pluck 
New grace from heaven to adorn thee still. 

[Exeunt Dion and AristQcles] 

Nau. Now, Aratea, the song of praise! Which of the 
gods is he most like? 

Ara. Like none of them. Jove is long-bearded, Nep- 
tune has forgot to walk. Mercury is boyish, Apollo like 
a woman, and Mars so heavy-footed he would stumble 
mocking the grace of Aristocles! 

Nau. 'Tis plain a curious eye will never take you to 
Olympus, since you've seen the Athenian. 

Ara. I own I have a sudden comfort from this gentle 

Nau. What is it? 


Ara. You know my Dion has one only fault. 

Nau. O, all but perfect man! 

Ara. He is so true that he is stem as truth. 

Nau. Tliat's truth indeed! 

Ara. So just that he is harsh as Justice' sdf . 

Nau. Another truth! 

Ara. So good that 

Nau. What! More of this singular fault? 

Ara. This Athens' tongue, so sweetly mediate. 
Will lead the people's love unto my lord. 
Who now upholds the state in thankless sort. 
They honor and admire, but keep their hearts 
For those who woo them ! Ah, I blame them not. 

Oc. Dion need borrow no Athenian tongue 
To speak for him. 

Nau. You'll hear no voice denies 
Him perfect praise. 

Oc. Who would deny it? 

The. None, 

Ocrastes, none. How like a gem unpriced 
His rich simplicity doth shine amid 
The purpled show of lords! It is as though 
The sovereign alkahest, weary of law, 
Had given the scorned pebble leave to glow 
The fairest eye of all the pearled shore. 

Ara. They'll sing us deaf, Nauresta, on this theme. 
But come. [Draws Nauresta away] Come, madam, come! 

We must prepare 
Some good-wife pleasure for my lord's return. 

[Exeunt Aratea and Nauresta, left] 

Oc. [Embracing Theano] My love! At last! O god- 
dess Patience, how 
Thou muffledst me! Time crept on thousand l^s 
And each one crippled. 

The. Ay, so slow the hour 


Moved to this golden now I thought each moment 
Turned back to seek some loss and spent itself 
A second time. 

Oc. Now all the world's at mom. 

How young we are, Theano ! O, 'tis true 
Life is at tick of dawn when love b^ins. 

The. I'm older then than you, for I 'gan love 
The day you won the laurel from proud Carthage. 
In the wild race how like a shooting star 
You made a heaven of earth's grosser air! 
And 'twas that day I heard old warriors say 
Your lance would dare prick ope the clouds till Mars 
Looked forth to combat. Ah, I scarce believe 
Our island's easy lap did bear you, and thank 
The gods that wealth, whose poison -pampered tooth 
likes best the marrow-sweet of youth, has left 
You still a man. 

Oc. Truth weeps when lovers talk. 

But where is sound more sweet? All that I am 
I owe to Dion. Give to him the praise. 
If praise is due, and you would please me best. 

The. Thy approbation is my glass of merit. 
And there alone am I arrayed fair. 
Yet for his sake, not yours, I love lord Dion. 
'Tis wonder's hour in wonder's day he should 
So fit his life, despite the careless time. 
To please the gods. 

Oc. When shall we tell him, love. 

Of this new joy of ours? 

The. My mother first. 

Oc. Didst note her frown? 
What has. so changed her, sweet? 

The. I find her troubled late, as she would soothe 
Her breast above some panting mystery. 

Oc. She must disclose the cause, and show if 't has 


An honest face. Ill have no mincmg doubts 
And ghostly secrets peering on our love. 

The. She is our gentle mother. Wait, my heart! 

Oc. Phillistus is too often at her ear. 
Have guard against him. In his smoothest words 
Hell subtly seat a devil to confoimd you. 
'Tis pity. Eloquence is the flute o' the soul, 
Which virtue alone should play, for good or bad 
It has inunortal consequence. 

The. He was 

My father's friend, and well may be my mother's. 

Oc. Ah, but he coos too near her widowed nest. 

The. Ocrastes! Can you dare? My noble mother! 
Whose sorrows sit like shadows in her eye? 
Whose loyal breast asks no embrace less chill 
Than the cold tomb where my dear father lies? 

Oc. 'Twas but a word. 

The. Unsay it, O, unsay it! 

Oc. Ay, by our island's god, 'twas never spoken! 

The. I've scarce a breath, Ocrastes. 

Oc. And that breath 

This kiss must drink. You will forgive? Speak not. 
These clinging lips have told me. A kiss, Theano, 
Unseals all secrets but to be their grave. 
Then we know all, and all we know's forgot. 
'Tis saying true, a kiss is worth the world. 
When, having it, there's no world but a kiss. 

[Re-enter Nauresta and Aratea, left] 

Nau. [Crossing to Theano] Still here, my daughter? 
[Enter Brentio, right] 

Bren. O, mistress, the master is coming with Dionysius. 
Since he would not take the Athenian to court, the court 
is coming hither. 

Oc. Here? 'Tis a strange declension of his pride. 

Ara. I fear 'tis cover for a thrust 'gainst Dion. 


Oc, No! Virtue such as his is heavened above 
The reach of sceptres. 

Ara. But he was too bold 
In his refusal to attend the feast. 
They come! And Dionysius' brow is like 
A new, unclouded sim. No eyes for us! 

[Enter Dionysiusy Aristocles, Diofiy and lords] 

Diony. [To Aristocles] Speak on, nor cease t' enchant my 
roused ear. 
Although thy words, like honey from the isle 
Where Ate fell, are something mixed with bitter. 
But give me not to virtue suddenly. 
Lest she disdain the greening, unripe fruit. 
And from her sun I do forever fall. 

Dion. Heed then his coimsel, Dionysius. 
A ruler is the state's bountificer, — 
High warden at the gates of happy good, — 
And when he turns unto himself the stream 
That should make fair his country, he is damned 
As oft a robber as his subjects count. 
Each man he meets may claim his golden coat! 

Diony. What's your rough meaning, sir? 

Arts. 'Tis this, my lord. 

Here is a land bom in a dream of Nature, 
And given to man to please her waking eyes * 
Until she thinks that yet she dreams. His task 
To build the adorning temple, turn groves retired 
To happy shades where wisdom meets with youth, 
And with triumphant art set statued thought 
To gleam abroad from every favored spot 
Till e'en the flattered gods be tempted here 
In marble fair to wait on mortal eyes. 
And genius roam in generation free. 
Breathing the constant good of mind aspiring. 
Till not a clod, be it or earth or human. 


But knows a smile to make itself more fair. 
How should it grieve thee then to see the pomp 
Of one, sole, only man heave with the weight 
Of all the state, and wear in barren pride 
The fertile beauty of his golden isle? 

Diony. Divine Athenian, if I be that man, 
Be thou the master of my realm till I 
Have learned what 'tis to be one. Teach me here 
My first new duty. 

Dion. Check debauching riot 

That sluices now the palace! Cease these feasts 
That fume to heaven like Hecate's brewing-vats! 
Nay, sir, those scowls unwrite your waterish vow. 

Aris. Our Dion means, my lord, that virtue wanes 
As revels wax; and yet an hour of rest 
The gods allow us. I myself have trained 
Young figures for the dance that wreathes with grace 
The needful, idle hour. 

Diony. You leave us music? 

Aris. Ay, 'tis the angel 'tween the sense and soul, 
A hand on each, that one may feel the touch 
Of purest heaven mid rosy revelling. 
The other catch sweet trembles of a wave 
That shake her calm till white cheek meets the rose. 

Diony. And feasting, sir? 

Aris. Nay, there's the soul's expense 

For what o'erdims her fair, majestic visions; 
But fruits of sheltered vales grow lush for man, 
And awny grasses droop with sugared grains. 
And wine, tempered to reason's flow, oft lights 
The questing mind. 

Diony. Enough! No groaning board 

That shifts its burden to the spirit! No revel 
To pleasure Pleasure! Naught but what is meet 
For fair philosophy's relaxive hour! 


Adrastus, see 'tis done. Gro instantly! 

[Exit Adrastus] 
Dion, you're for the harbor? 

Dion With your leave. 

Diony. Which we must grant. Your business is our 

Oc. With you, my lord? 

Dion. Most welcome son. Adieu. 

[Exeunt Dion mid Ocrastes] 

Am, Brother, 'tis long since you have visited me. 
I hold a magnet now in our new friend 
Will draw you to my house. 

Diony. Nay, I must rob you. 

The palace is his home. 

Ara. O, not to-day! 

Diony, I'll yield to-day, but not an hour beyond 
To-morrow's sun. Adieu, Aristocles. 
Give me thy love; I'll give thee Syracuse. 

[Exeunt Diony sins and lords] 

Ara, [To Aristocles] We have some statues in the gar- 
den, sir. 
May please an eye from Athens. Will you come? 

[Exeunt Aratea and Aristocles] 

The, Mother, why look so darkly on Ocrastes? 

Nau, Darkly, my daughter? 

The, Has he not a soul 

As truly virtuous as his face is fair? 

Nau. True, but he's not for you. Believe it. 

The, Ah! 

Nau, Nor grieve my heart with pleading to know more. 
Some day I'll speak, but now my bosom's locked 
With key not in my hands. 

The, Mother, I pray 

You'll give no more a flattered, willing ear 
To lord Phillistus' tongue. 


Nau. What do you mean? 

The. I do not know. I am disturbed by him. 
I scarce can tell you how. 

Nau. To call him friend 

But proves my loyalty to the loved dead. 

The. I do not doubt my mother! No, no, no! 
But him I fear. His eye speaks muddily, 
And echoes not his words. 

Nau. No more of this! 
You prattle, child. Say that he loves me 

The. Ah, 

Not that! 

Nau. Yet were he villain, is not love 
The soul's sweet cleanser and redeeming incense? 

The. The serpent and the bee make food and venom 
Of the same flower's sweetness; so fair minds 
In love enlarge with merit, while villainy. 
Sucking such sweet, swells rank and poisonous. 

Nau. No more, my daughter! 

[Enter courtiers, right] 

Nau. Good-day, my lords! You are early from the 
play. Did it not please you? 

First courtier. Tame, tame. I'd not have left my couch 
at the bath for such. And Dracon's tongue was middle 
of a pretty tale. 

Nau. But the banquet — ^why stayed you not for that? 

Second courtier. Have you not heard? The seven evil 
winds have struck the feast, and left but fruit and wine. 
My wife's as good a cook. Can serve a plate of figs! 

Nau. What's this? 

First courtier. As we say. Our delectable gardens are 
smit with sudden prudent frost. The mullein and the 
plantain shortly will grow where we have plucked luxu- 
riance' rose. 


[Enter Araiea and Aristocles] 

Nau. What do you mean, my lord? 

First courtier. [Looking at Aristocles] The wind is all too 
near that wrought this havoc. 

Aris. Nay, have no fear for Dion. You wrong this hour 
of promise. Your brother yields us much. 

Ara. Indeed too much! These sudden bom desires are 
to be feared in him. Ah, here's Ocrastes. 

Nau. He's much disturbed. I know that brow. 
[Re-enter OcrasteSj right] 

The. Ocrastes? 

Oc. Now heavens shake for what mine eyes have seen! 
I followed Dion to the southern shore 
Where the new pinnace floats beneath the castle. 
And there Domenes held him in close talk, 
When suddenly ere wink could question it. 
The soldiers had him bound within a boat 
Outrowing to the pinnace, which took him up 
And bent to sea like an embodied wind. 
But that a score of traitor arms enforced me 
The waves had kept me not on hated land! 
Surprise so stormed him Dion scarce could call 
" Revenge me not, but seek to calm the dty !'* 
Then from the pinnace a relenting boat 
Brought this short writing. 'Tis for Aratea. 

Ara. Bead — ^read — Ocrastes — ^I — ^I can not see. 

Oc. [Reads] Aristocles will be thy comfort. Bid him 
not forget Syracuse to think of me. Now that the thorny 
counsellor is plucked from court, he can do much with 
Dionysius. Ocrastes will be to thee a brother of more 
love than ever was the tyrant. Sweet, farewell. *Tis from 
thine eyes I'm banished, not thy heart. 

Ara. O Dion, Dion! My unhappy lord! 

Aris. Abate thy grief, dear lady. Affliction is 


The night of man where stars his lustrous soul 
That in a happy sun would pale unseen. 

Ara. My brother! 'Tis his treacherous hand! 0,me! 
Now heaven and earth be naught, I care not! 

\Exeurd AraJtea^ Nauresta^ Theano and attendants] 

A courtier. Come! 

There's more to this. 
^ Another. Ay, friends, let's to the streets. 

[Courtiers hurry away. Ocra^tes and Aristocles alone] 

Oc. 111 rouse the populace! 

Aris. No, you will calm it. 

Oc. Sir, I was knit in heat and tempered mortal ! 
Your natal star was cold when you were bom. 
Dead in the heavens, had long forgot its fire. 
And could not give one twinkle's warmth to you! 
I've blood, and know my friends! 

Aris. Dost think that sorrow 

Lives only in hot brows? No angers be 
That rage not on the tongue? 

Oc. O, you can feel? 

Aris. Here sweep the tides that prove it. 

Oc. Yet so calm? 

Aris. Who keeps his heart astir with his own woe 
Has never room for others. Let us put 
Our paltry love aside and seek the good 
Of all the dty, not of one because 
He is our friend. Tliink not a man may leave 
life's reefed and breakered straits behind and reach 
Philosophy's still- waved almighty sea 
With sdfish sorrow's mottled pilot eye. 

Oc. And you've a mortal pulse? Can love and die? 

Aris. I am as you, Ocrastes, — heart and limb, — 
But I have given my kingdom to my soul. 
And throned secure above the body's chance 
Rode not with its misfortune. 


Oc. Who can keep 

Such sovereign state, my lord? Art never torn 
Or shaken? 

Aris. What hap of winds, think you, may shake 
The monarch towers of the soul? 

Oc. Forgive me, 

Aristocles. Thou sun immovable! 
How Uke Hyperion fixed in calm you shine. 
And riot's faction in my blood grows still 
With looking on thee. Ill to court and strive 
With sober measure to eflFect repeal 
Of Dion's banishment. And failing that, 
I yet may save for him his untouched wealth. 

[Going, turns] 

Is it not lonely on the serene height, 
My lord? 
Aris. The gods are sometimes there. 

[Exit Ocrastes] 

The gods? 
Vain words on vainer tongue. O, man, man, man ! 
Weak child of limit and unwinged desire. 
Coping with deity in daring bout. 
And drowned at last within a woman's tear! 
. . . Hyperion fixed in calm. Ay, true it is 
That in the heaven of my sphering mind 
I've reached the pause solstitial. And would fain 
Take comet course on new, unbidden track 
Than traverse o'er the stale appointed route. 
Ay, break the orbit's fond and placid round. 
And swim a wonder to the staring suns ! 
The end is death, — and yet a comet's death. 
The rushing wings are round me, bear me up. 
And drive me like a meteor charging doom. 
When Aratea veils me with her eyes. 


[ErUer Tichus] 

Tick. [Asidey noting Aristocles' groan] Ho, for ill that's 
past and ill that is to come, philosophy has ever a saw, but 
in a present pinch speaks not for groaning ! . . . My lord, 
the lady Aratea asks for word with you. 

Aris. [Hesitating] Tell her ... 1 come. 



Scene 1. An otUer courts Dvmymis* pcUcu^. Two en- 
trances to palace on the right. Columns rear. Sea and 
sky seen between them. Behind columns a street. At 
left a garden. Speusippus and lords pass from street 
toward garden. 

Speu. Dion, my lords» has gathered friends in Athens, 
And waits your invitation to set sail 
With power for your relief. Six circled moons 
Have risen from the sea since he was banished 
And you are dumb as you were staring yet 
Upon the marvel of his taking off. 

First lord. What is his life with you? 

Speu. He walks a mark 

For Athens* eye, — a breathing virtue, sir. 
Making the good in other men stand still 
To gaze at what in him is better. 

Second lord. This 

Is his true color. 

Speu. True? By Pallas, sir, 

Apollo purges not more ardently 
The earth of humors than he iniquity 
From man and state! Divinity has made 
His heart her brooding place to bring forth deeds 
So like her own complexion that men read 
The book of Heaven in them and grow wise 
Without the aid of schools. 

First lord. We know our loss. 

Third lord. The tyrant sends him his great revenues. 



Speu. Which Dion casts like sweet and general rain 
On parching poverty. His charity 
Is a perpetual summer where bruised merit 
Lifteth in flower. 

Second lord. So was it here. 

Speu. And you 

Could have him home had you some brave Greek blood 
At heart. Please you, IVe heard a shepherdess 
Combed wool on Dardan plain when Troy was burning* 
Methinks Sicilian sires bred from that dame. 

First lord. By Zeus, this is bold rating. 

Second lord. 'Tis our due. 

'Twixt caution's pause and the delay of shame 
Lies but one step, and Syracuse is on it. 
Courage grows agued and hunches at the hearth 
Forefearing enterprise. 

Speu. Can you be still? 

Third lord. No more, my lord. Here's Dionysius. 

[ They move into garden as Dionysius enters from street with 
Aristocles and other lords, and turns toward paia^] 

First lord. He's well attended. 

Second lord. Ay, let tattered vice 

Step out o' door and contemnation hoots 
It home again, while silken viciousness 
May march as 't will 'tween meek uncovered polls» 
With Flattery's footmen running neck and neck 
To open any gate. 

First lord. True! true! 

Speu. Talk! talk! 

A sword's the tongue for me! 

Third lord. The tyrant speaks. 

Hark, friends! 

Diony. Aristocles, excepting thee 

No man alive might teach me hate myself. 
Say what thou wilt, I'll love thee! 


Third lord. Fair enough. 

Second lord. Fair in the flower, but no f ruit» my lord. 
The fragrance sickens. A sound wholesome deed 
Were pungent sniffing! 

Aris. Sir, upon the soil 

Of this fair courtesy I'd lodge a seed 
Might bloom with Dion's pardon. 

Diony. Pardon Dion! 

By Delos' homed altar, no! My tongue 
Compound my own destruction? 

Aris. Sir, your tongue 

Is bound to you, but I could wish it had 
A wiser master. 

Diony. Roast me in the bull 

Of Phalaris, if I be such a fool! 
Thou know'st that he conspired against me! 

Aris. Nay 

Diony. With honey breath you steal into my heart 
But to betray it! 

Aris. I pray your leave to sail 

From Sicily. Greece hath a place for me 
Above insult. 

Diony. Go when you will. To-day! 
Our admiral shall bear you. 

[To Heraclides] Hear you, sir? 
Choose out your ship. Aristocles, farewell. 
Talk not of me i' the Academe. 

Aris. My lord. 

The gods take care we've no such dearth of matter. 

Diony. [As Aristocles turns to go] Dost mean it? 

Nay! Spoil not my jest. 
Canst take oflfence from one who loveth thee? 
In truth wouldst go? 

Aris. The winds that fan me hence 


Will be as welcome as the breeze that lifts 
The sail of calm-bound mariners that long 
Have in mid-ocean rocked and dreamed of food. 

Diony. No, no, my friend ! Thou shalt not go from me ! 
Dost caJl thyself philosopher, and take 
First chance to fly thy duty here? Hear you. 
Lord admiral. Watch every gate nor let 
This bold man pass. Sink the Sicilian fleet 
Ere you do spare a ship for hire or pity 
To grant him sail and heggsa me of friends. 
For all my friends are corporate now in him. 
[To Aristodes] Talk not of parting while you have my love. 
Cold yet? Gro seek my sister. She will bring 
Your high look to sweet friendship's level. Gro. 
Yours is the only tongue can draw her from 
Her tearful reticence. Tell her the stars 
Will find me with her. I have news too new 
For pale indiiBFerence. TVill rouse her wrath 
Or pleasure. 

[Speusippus and companions pass from garden to dred 
and off left] 

Ha, what Greekish stranger there? 

Phil. Speusippus, sir. 

Diony. Methought his acid look 

Had turned my purple doak a pauperish yeUow. 

PhU. Aristodes best knows him. An Athenian. 

Aris. \Who is slowly going into palace by smaller en- 
trance^ fronts turns] And worthy of his birth. He is my 

And brings me Dion's love. 

Diony. That name again! 

. . . WeU, thou *rt my soul. 

[Aristodes goes into palace. Dionysitu turns to larger 
entrance rear] 


Phil. [Detaining Heraclides] A word with you, my lord. 
[Dionysius and oMendants enter palace] 

Her, What's urgent, friend? 

Phil. Marked you Speusippus? 

Her, Ay. 

PhU, He comes to stir a war in Dion's name. 
Already there's a rumbling 'mong the people 
That warns us to be swift. 

Her, My fears have caught it. 

Phil. The tyrant's mood is ripe. See how he loves 
And hates Aristocles? This is the hour 
To move him to the Athenian's death. 

Her. You're right. 

When friendship oars 'tween choler and regard, 
A crafty hand may steer which wished way 
Sets wind of secret business, and he 
That rides be none the wiser. 

PhU. The Athenian 

Removed, then Dionysius is our own. 

Her. We'll have short need of him. The tyrant's guards 
Are envious of the Greek to murder's pitch. 
Because he counsels Dionysius 
To cast them oflf and rule by love alone. 
The captain stands our friend, his sword aloft 
To fall as turns the hair. 

PhU, The guards must do 't. 

The people hold them privileged in humors. 
And say not yea or nay to them. But does 
Callorus join us? 

Her. He yet hesitates. 

PhU. Then cease your suasion and to his easy state 
Clap screws will cramp. Pain is the orator 
Can clinch his case and drive the question home. 

Her, You'll to iEgisthus? 


PhU. Ay, though we've a diifference. 

A trifle that his vanity may stand on. 

Her. Make your excuse, but study how you do it. 
Faults oft are none till clapped conspicuous 
With an apology. 

Phil. I've learned of you. 

None has a tongue more apt to come at love 
'Neath what ill cover hides it. Dionysius 
I leave to you. My name use as 'twere yours. 
My sum of wisdom is to know your own 
And trust you wholly. 

Her. That you may, Phillistus. 

My fame rests on this move. [Eani] 

PhU. Your fame, good sir, 

Has naught to do with what I close intend. 
By Victory's wings, I'll reach the top of power. 
Or from her golden ball knock Fortune's foot 
And steer her course myself! Now to Nauresta. 

[Goes irdo palace^ front entrance. Brentio, Tidvas and 
Methone enter merrily from garden. Brentio carries 
a large harp. They sit on benches left] 

Bren. These are merry days since Dionysius brought us 
to the palace. I would weep for my poor banished mas- 
ter, for they say a far country makes a weary foot, but 
there's so much laughing matter here — ^the singing and the 
rhyming, and the pretty wenches tripping your eyes up at 
every comer, that my tears are no more out than I've good 
reason to whip them in again. 

Meth. O Venus ! There's no laughing here save of your 
dreaming. Dost see how the courtiers scowl? They say 
the scholars and philosophers leave them no dancing room 
in the palace; the halls are full of sand for the pleasure of 
the students that come to draw those foolish figures — 
plates, they call em 

Tich. Geometry. 


Bren. That's your master's doing. Thank the wise man 
for that! 

Meth. It suits our mistresses well enough. They blink 
at a smile as an owlet at the sun. Troth, I've seen them 
weep so much that I feel wrapped in a fog with the vapor 
of their tears. • 

Tich. But let us be merry. No more sad airs, my sweet 

Bren. [Aside] I like not this sugary possessive. . . . 
Play, my own sweetest Methone, and 111 sing you a song 
out of head. 

Meth. Pray you, sing it not out of feet too, for a limping 
line is past carrying. 

Bren. 'Tis a song of you and will go fast enough, I 

Meth. [ScomfvUy] Of me? 

Bren. Nay, of your jewels! 

Meth. An you mock me. 111 

Bren. [Touching his lips] Your rubies [poirvting to his 
eyes], your diamonds [grinning to show teeth], your pearls. 

Tich. You may sing that song when diamonds wink tears, 
rubies pucker for kisses, and pearls bite figs i' the morning. 

Bren. Well, I've a better one. [Sings] 

Her voice is like the birds that wive 
When blossoms swing in April trees, 

And from her bosom's honey hive 
Sighs come and go like bees. 

Her smile 

Meth. Nay, I'm no farm-house sweet for loutish Cory- 
don ! How would you sing me, master Tichus, were I in 
Athens where every maid is fair? 

Tich. With more truth and less boast. 

Meth. Your song, sir. 

[TichiLS sings] 


Heigh-ho, my star of love 
Has left its heaven high. 

And all the beauteous court above, 
To dwell in fair Methone's eye. 

And now, alas, unlucky bliss. 
It finds a home so bright 

That all its beauty buried is 

Within that fairer, cruel light. 

No more, no more it shines for me 

But as she gives it leave! 
O, bid thy stars, sweet maid, agree- 

Bren. Ho, if heaven had no stars save those left by 
lovers after fitting up their mistress' eyes, Erebus would 
stumble for want of candles ! 
Meth. [Jumping up] Go ! I hear my mistress ! 
[Tichu^ walks leisurely into garden, Brentio foUoioing] 
Meth. Brentio, take the harp ! 

[Brentio returns and picks up harp] 
Bren. So! I'm an excellent dromedary, if I can't flute 
it like Apollo. 

Meth. Run, snail! 

Bren. Not I, by Vulcan's limp! 

[Theano appears at smaller entrance of pala^^] 
The. Methone? 

[Brentio runs into garden] 
The. [Coming oiU] You here, Methone? Attend the 
lady Nauresta. 
I fear your pleasure and your duty lie 
Too far apart. [Exit Methone, right] 

Ocrastes, come! My love! 
Fair closed flowers that wait the royal dawn 
Ere they will sport with beauty's open face 
Are as my heart that caseth up its joy 
To wait thy voice. 


[The day darkens to dvsk. Theano looks into the garden, 
suddenly eager] 

He's coming! No, he stops 
To talk with Brentio. How close they whisper! 
What is 't he gives the slave? For shame» bold eyes, 
To spy upon a lord so true! What was *t 
Phillistus said? No matter. It was false. 

[She moves aside as Brentio crosses to pala^ce] 

Bren. [Jingling coins] O sweet, sweet gold! Art mine — 
all mine — ^my love? 
And will I do it? Ay! I'd sell my soul 
To such a brave paymaster. 

[Enters palace] 

Oc. [Coming on right, not seeing Theano] 

Vile, too vile! 
Let me not think of it. 

The. Ocrastes? 

Oc. Ah, 

My never-setting star! 

The. But you are troubled. 

Hast news? 

Oc. Rumors, my girl. They're in the air 

Like floating poisons. O that Syracuse 
Had one man in 't! 

The. Look in my eyes and see him. 

Oc. One sword in one right hand! 

The. Here, in my eyes. 

Oc. I see a dallying, damned temporizer. 
Who stops to count the threatening dragon's teeth 
Ere reaving him of head. 

The. My love, what is it? 

Oc. Still Dion lingers, playing the game of wits 
In idle Athens, while scandal eats his name 

The. Ocrastes! 

Oc. Yes, I said it. 


The. Ah, you mean 

Oc. I mean 

The. Aristodes. 

Oc. O, Dion, Dion! 

The. Speusippus says he comes. 

Oc. Too late he comes 

That should be here already. 

The. Dear my love. 

He is not yomig as you, and years are cautious. 
While age makes ready to resent affront 
The blows of youth are given and forgot. 

Oc. Ah, my Theano, I've but one place of peace — 
Nay, I've not that — ^your pity-housing bosom. 
Though Coins' thirty sons made centre round me. 
There should I rest as on a sunmier cloud 
Rose-covered by the toil of flying doves 
To keep off heaven's tears. And you deny it! 

The. My own! 

Oc. You do not love me! 

The. Hear him not, 

patient Heaven ! 

Oc. Come to me, Theano. 

The. Not while my mother lives to suffer for it. 

Oc. My love, as nature runs, she must die first. 
Forgive my rudest tongue — but will you then — 
When so she goes — ^bring all this heart to me? 
I'm tortured lest her bitter will against me 
Should reach back from the tomb. 

The. Ah, my beloved. 

The wounds we give the dead must fall unfelt. 
Then why should senseless graves wound life? Ay, then — 
Unhappy happy then — ^1*0 be all yours. 
[Enter Methane, right] 

Metk. Mistress Theano, your mother is strangely ill. 

1 pray you, come. 


The. O me, my fatal word! 

Oc. Nay, 'twas our watchful star moved me to urge it. 
Let me go with you, love, and strive once more 
To win the picket of her bluflF regard. 

The, Not now. Wait here until I come again. 

[Exit Theano] 

Oc. The silken bud that holds a treasured world 
Uncaskets nothing in the hour of bloom. 
But fans the air with its own waste of leaves. 
Even so my hope, that with the swelling year 
Pressed to a summer crown, unfolds on naught 
And prodigal of self to naught is come. 

[Ooea into garden. Stare appear in the sky visible be- 
yond columns, rear. Servants come otU of the palace 
and set lights about the court. Enter Aratea and Aristo- 
cles from palaccy front. They cross to rear and sit be^ 
tween two of the columns] 

Ara. Aristocles — my Dion's friend and mine — 
I rest upon your soul and feel encirqued 
By silent potence, like the quietude 
Of heaven when gods are still, — ^when prayers come not, 
And enters no desire. So strange — ^this peace. 
My infant eyes oped on a shaking isle. 
And I was cradled in my father's wars. 
O soon, too soon, I knew woe's touch of death! 
But these are living days — days to be wreathed 
With memory's stars, and circled new each mom 
With pearls iridian from regretful eyes 
That they — such days — can pass. 

Aris. Eternity 

Looked once upon the world, where lingers yet 
Some brightness of her eye that we call Time. 
Can aught so fleet hold value of thy tear? 
Thou who hast the immortal heritage? 

Ara. I can not say. Your mind in heaven sleeps, 


And by the day you but recall your dreams; 
While I, my lord, couch not so gloriously. 
And from the earth must speak. 

Aris. O, not from earth 

[Re-enter Ocr<Mtes] 

Ara. [To Ocrades] Will you not sit with us? 

Oc. Nay, 111 rest here. 

[Lies down on one of the long seats] 
I know you talk of Dion, and one who loves him 
Brings no intrusive ear, — or if it is, 
'Tis deaf with weariness. 

Ara. [To Aristocles] He's tempest-racked 
Between his love and friend. Ay, me, the worid! 

Aris. Ill leave you now. No more of my poor thoughts. 
You're wearied with long listening. [Rises] 

Ara. O, sir. 

Your thoughts are flowers and your words their fragrance; 
I do not hear but breathe them. Pray you, stay! 

[He slowly resumes his seat. She looks silently at the 
sky. He writes on tablet] 

Ara. Aristocles, thou wilt be god of gods 
When thou 'rt among those stars; but now, O friend. 
Come nearer earth. Be mortal for my sake. 
I'm fearful when you're gone, or when your soul 
Keeps court so far above me. 

Aris. Ill read to you. 

Ara. What you have written there? 

Aris. No — ^no — 'tis nothing. 

Ara. Ah, do not read to-night. I am so lonely 
That even with a book I would not share thee. 
Though it should tempt with the most wondrous hap 
Of bard or lover caught in liquid line. 
You've travelled much; tell me an Egypt tale. 
I'm weary of nymphs, and piping shepherd songs. 
And the ever-wrangling gods of blue Olympus. 


Aris. Then hear the tale of Isis as 'tis told 
By the prophet-cradling Nile when Lotus buds 
Upbreathing blow new seasons of old dreams. 
Not e'en our Venus, dove-led, invisible. 
More softly moves to Paphos wood than she 
O'er sleeping earth. Her wings lead on the light. 
And when she Ufts them dawn awakes. 

Ara, Fair Isis! 

Aris. She seeks her brother, self-created, slain 
By his own pride, for he was God of All. 
Her tears, like weeping music, sweeten earth, 
Nor rests she till she finds him. 

Ara, Sister Isis! 

Aris. And then — ^none knows how hid in solitude 
She suckles death with life till he new rises 
The God of All, too great for pride, too just 
For death; the sire of Beauty, breathing Life 
Through Love, — soul of the nurturing sun — 
The mother-breast of fields — ^the parent thrill 
Of birds, of trees, of flowers — of all that makes 
Most sweet the fair world's mortal pageantry, — 
Yea of the eternal, vital glow that throbs 
Within humanity's deep-rubied heart. 
So runs the myth, dear Aratea. 

Ara. Ah! 

How runs the rubric of thy thought that sets 
The symbol plain? Read that to me, I pray thee. 

Aris. The lonely mind may not uprafter stars. 
And vain, adventurous man who of himself 
Createth Heaven must see it fall. Then doth 
The woman spirit, girdle of the worlds. 
Above the ruins cry, — his mate forgot - 
Who from his flesh by love's divinity 
Calls forth the beauteous eternities 
To star the globe of life. 


Oc. [Rising] Which is to say, 

As simple people speak in Sicily, 
A man must wed! 

Ara. Ocrastes, talk not so! 

Like stars that may not range below the zenith, 
His meaning keeps the orbit of high thought, 
And will not dwell in gross and simple words. 

Oc. Ho, mistress Dion, you too would like to spin 
Your cobwebs roimd the moon ! [To Aristocles] Get you 

to Athens, 
While you may say to Dion she is true! 

[Aristocles tries to speak] 
O, ay, I know what you would say, my lord. 
You would not love Aurora though she dropped 
Her morning mantle at your feet and blushed 
Herself revestured. No! But Aratea! 
She has a human heart, — eyes that can fill 
With tears, — soft hands that love the thing they touch, — 
A body that might be the ivory cup 
Delight doth use to dip and measure out 
The rose-flood of her pleasure. Go, I say! 
Take to the sea, and leave no track my sword 
May follow. [Rushes into garden] 

Ara. Sir, foi^ve his madness! Ah, 
He is distracted by these wrongs to Dion. 
I have not told you, friend, that Dionysius 
To-day seized all possessions of my lord. 
And stopped all moneys to him. In this deed 
Ocrastes reads the preface to new woes. 
Which shakes his mind's security and gives 
A living color to his fantasies. 

[Aristocles stands gazing out, not showing his face] 

But Heaven and I know your white soul, my lord 

[Enter Callorus, from paiace, larger entrance, with guards] 

Callo. Your pardon, worthy sage and fairest lady. 


I come from Dionysius, whose care 
Has bared a plot against Aristocles, 
Whom he for safety bids repair at once 
To the castle fort, where he must rest to-night 
In sure protection of the royal guards. 

Ara. The guards? The royal guards? 

Callo. You will make haste, 

My lord? Before the people move against you. 
Hearing that Dion has set sail with troops 
To level Syracuse, they think 'tis by 
Your aid and counsel. Pray you, lose no time. 

Aris, I'll go with you, Callorus. Not from fear. 
But to keep riot down that else might shake 
The city's peace. [To Aratea] Farewell. 

[Exeunt Aristocles, CaUorv^ and guards, by street] 

Ara. Farewell? I could not speak. 

The tyrant's guards! They hate Aristocles. 
My fears have now a shape and short will show 
Their foulest face. I must take means at once 
To learn the truth. My careful Dionysius, 
I will be vigilant too. 

[Turns to go in. Picks up a bit of paper] 
'Tis what he wrote 
And said 'twas nothing. O, — a pretty rhyme! 

Thine eyes are on the stars, my Star! 

Waidd I might be . 
That heaven Jar 

With thousand eyes on theel 

He is a poet. Ay, 'tis but a rhyme. 
And yet — 'tis very pretty — ^I will keep it. 
[Re-enter Ocrastes from garden. He approaches Aratea 
as if he would speak, but she hurries into palace, en- 
trance front, without seeing him. He retires in gloom 


as Dionysvus and a train of lords come ovi of palacCy 
large entrance, rear] 

Diony. Come, friends! Now is the sweetest garden 
When day's dust-fouled trail is passed, and night 
Has not yet donned her moist and heavy cloak. 

[They cross to garden] 
Here let us wait the lords. We've smnmoned all 
Of golden purse and of right noble line. 
Now that we've stopped all revenues to Dion, 
And this night give our sister to a husband 
Of our own choosing 

Oc. Dionysius! 

Diony, Ha! You, Ocrastes? Know to whom you 

Oc. My lord, you would not dare 

Diony. Not dare? That word 

Is strange to me. Will some good scholar here 
Tell me its meaning? 

Oc. Pardon, mighty lord. 
I sought to warn you that the wife of Dion 

Diony. Your blood moves hotly ofiF in Dion's cause. 
And warning from our chief suspected foe 

Oc. This arm has fought your battles, sir! 

Diony. Ay, so. 

Woidd we might rank your famous valiancy 
Once more with us, but while we doubt your heart 
You are our enemy. 

Oc. What proof, my lord 

Diony. We'll find it soon enough. Till then have care. 
And dainty walk 'tween wolf and precipice ! 
[Dionysius and lords go into garden] 

Oc. To cry this wrong would give the sea new tongue. 
And mend the winds with utterance ! But now 
No time for sighs and groans. The tyrant's brow 


Is hung with murder's cloud. I must be quick 
Or lose the breath ties me to upper earth. 
Action must take the vantage now of thought. 
And reason follow after. 

[Re-enter Theano, from palace] 

The, I was long. 

. . • She's better now, and quiet. 

Oc. Better? Who? 

The. Who?— O! My mother. 

Oc. Fie, does she yet live? 

The. O gentle gods! 

Oc. All women now should die. 

The. Cerastes! 

Oc. Do not stare. Thine eyes are not 

The only home of agony. Farewell ! 

The. Farewell? No, no! [Clinging to him] 

You'll tell me first! What is it? 
Will you not trust me? 

Oc. 'TIS thy trust I want. 

The. Thou hast it. 

Oc. Swear 'tis mine. 

The. My lover! 

Oc. Swear! 

Thy trust! Thy perfect trust ! 

The. 'Tis thine. I swear it. 

Oc. Though fiends of doubt hail thee on every side. 
Venting their slander from the mouth of winds, 
Yet wilt thou trust me? 

The. Ay, my lord, I will! 

[Lords begin to enter from the garden] 

Oc. Once more to-night 111 see thee. Go! 

The. My love! 

Oc. Go, go! 

[Theano goes irdo palace. Dionysiris comes from garden. 
Ocrastes moves a,side and stands in shadow] 


Diony. lis time our sister should be told 

Our happy purpose. 

A lord. She is here. 

[Aratea re-enters, and hastens across to Dionysius] 

Ara, My brother, 
I came to seek you. Lord Aristoeles 

Diony. Ay, troubles press upon us, dearest sister. 
And much is trembling in adventure's hand. 
Now do we need your husband's strength to meet 
HI fortime's tide. 

Ara. Then you have sent for Dion? 

O, you forgive! 

Diony. Speak not that traitor's name! 

He is the foe 'gainst whom I must go forth. 
You are to wed a lord whose might shall be 
My own. To-night! Dost hear? 

Ara. Ay, Dionysius. 

Diony. And art not pleased? No thanks that I provide 
For your forsaken state? Now, now! One word. 
Stand not so fixed, as I had ordered you 
To instant death. 

Ara. You make me marble, sir. 
Unloose my soul's locked torture with the key 
Of one retracting word, or I must seek 
In kinder stone my sole relief from pain. 
O, say it is not so! This is a jest 
Will make you weep when you 

Diony. Jesting to fools! 

Not throned skies can change what we've determined. 
This rebel brow shocks my fond heart that toils 
In your ungracious service. Come, my friends. 
All to the council hall ! With me, my sister. 

Ara. O, brother, not one moment to look back 
And say farewell to Heaven? Not one to gaze 
Into the darkness ere I plunge to hell? 


Diony. And let the hour 'tween my intent and deed 
Lay meddling finger on my purpose? Nay, 
You know me better, madam. On my lords! 
Delay's the whetstone sharpens best the blades 
Of enemies. 

Ara. Go, sir! I am myself. 
I will not move. If you will tear me hence. 
And drag your father's daughter at your feet. 
Then you may take me to the council hall. 

Diony. Your pleasure, sister. Here well hold our court. 
Go, Clitus, to the steps and turn all hither. 

Ara. Art thou my brother, Dionysius? Nay! 
We are of different mothers. Now I know 
We are of diflFerent fathers, too. 

Diony. You dare! 

Silence thy slanderous tongue! 

Ara. I say thou 'rt not 

My royal father's son! 

Diony. His sword is mine! 

[Seizes her in a rage; threatening her with his weapon; 
then slowly releases her and she sinks to bench by piUar 
of the colonnade. Lords assemble, some talking ex- 
citedly bid in undertone, others cool and scoffing. Speu- 
sippus and friends enter, taking inconspicuous place. 
Ocrastes keeps in shade, motionless and unnoticed] 

A lord. Ha, Calisthenes, you need not come to bite at 
this bait. 'Tis a dainty morsel and only goldfish are al- 
lowed to nibble. 

An old lord. I mislike this marriage. 'Twill bring us 
woe, let it reach Dion's ears. 

Another. Ay, wars beyond our guess will come of it. 

Young lord. The admiral against ^gisthus! 

Second young lord. HeracUdes? He is much wived 

Third young lord. The easier to take another. 


Second young lord, ^gisthus bids most fair. I take you. 

Diony. My friends, would that I had for each of you 
So fair a sister, and were not thus forced 
To choose among you. Who is first to speak? 

Her. I pray this gift, my lord. 

Diony. Brave admiral, 

You would stand high, perhaps the highest with us, 
Were't not that old wives make new enemies. 

Icetes. I'm free to give my undivided heart. 

Diony. But, good Icetes, age is creeping on you. 
We want a fighting arm as well as heart. 
Who else? No voice? Must we then hawk her up? 
Look on her, gentlemen! Even tears may not 
Disfigure her. This fit of sorrow past 
YouTl see her smile again, those wondrous smiles 
You've longed in secret to make all your own. 
A week, a day, will put some spirit in her. 

Ara. \Rising\ To you, my lords of Syracuse! Think not 
To wed the wife of Dion as she stands. 
You'll pluck no rose in me. This face I'll sere 
With constant travelling tears, till Beauty here 
Shall search in vain for memory of herself. 
My wealth I'll fling upon the air to birds 
And b^gars. Ay, my palace shall take wings! 
My costly robes I'll cast into the street 
That conunon women may adorn themselves. 
I am no princess. I refuse the name 
Of aught that makes me sister to that wretch. 
Go seek some linen washer by a brook 
And find a wealthier and a prouder wife. 

Diony. Spoke I not truth, my lords? You see how fast 
Her spirit grows. Hear her sweet names for me? 
Now we'll have bidders plenty. Thanks, my sister. 
She'll sing, my lords, when once she's neatly caged. 

JEgisthtAs. I b^ 


CaUorus. My lord 

Diony, 'Tis fit you both should speak 

At once, for both alike sit in my favor. 
iEgisthus' lands are broad, but you, CaUorus, 
Have proved a mightier leader in the field. 
And all in all you do deserve alike. 
There's none may rank above you. 

Oc. [Stepping otU] One, my lord. 

JEg. There's none! 

Callo. Let him come forth! 

Diony. Who, sir? His name. 

Oc. Ocrastes. 

Diony. You? 

^g. Ha, ha! 

Oc. Why not, my lord? 

Diony. You're Dion's heart. You cast him oflf? 

Oc. You ask 

For proof? I take his wife. Were I to warm 
My fingers in his blood, I'd have more hope 
That he would rise and bless me than to keep 
His love while she lies on my bosom. 

Ara. O! 

Oc. I challenge any here to match my claim. 
This is the sword, my lord, that held the city 
Against the Tarentines when these brave nobles 
Trembled behind their fast shut doors. 

^g. 'Tis false! 

Oc. All know 'tis true. Since boasting now's a virtue, 
111 do it well. Who wore the laurel wreath 
That saved all Sicily a spreading blush 
The day the Carthaginian youths were sent 
Defeated home? You ask for wealth? My vineyards 
Run to the wilderness. My com now greens 
On ^Etna's slope and yellows by the Grda. 
My father's coffers are imopened yet. 


And ships are sailing here will fill my own. 

Mjr slaves might meet an army, and IH put 

A sword in every hand for Syracose. 

In rank I bow to none. The Mood ot PdUs, 

First king of Syracuse, runs yet in me. 

And even Dionysius' royal self 

Yidds to my line the birthright courtesy. 

Diony. Enough. Now Dion's cause falls down. 
Come to our heart, Ocrastes! There's not one 
We'd rather win to us. 

8peu. [Aside] O, Dion, now all 

Forsake thee but calamity, that like 
A covetous ill wife hangs on thy fortune! 

Diony. By Pluto, no more fear! Our throne is safe! 

Oc. My lord 

Diony, Nay, brother! 

Oc, Pray be warned by one 

Who knows too well your need. Not all the troops 
Of broadest Sicily may keep you safe 
When Dion comes from Greece. Men swarm to him 
As he were golden Saturn giving ofiF 
New fortunes with each breath. Send me with speed 
To Italy. There I have friends shall be 
Your own, and pour a fleet into your harbor 
Will turn lord Dion pale when next his eye 
S(^ans Syracusan waters. 

Diony. Italy? 

Well think of it. You're the true warrior stuff, 
Planning campaigns with the same breath you win 
A royal bride. We like you better for it. 
But she may like you less. Give her a word. 

Oe, O, fairest woman that ever made the earth 
More sweet and beauteous to live upon, 
You*ll find in me a true and gentle lord. 


These tears 111 teach to run a smiling race 
And in a happy death forget their birth. 

[Attempts to embrace her] 

Ara. Open the prisons, call some convict forth» 
And I will wed him, but not you! These lords 
Have hated Dion, have not lived upon 
His constant kindness. You have drunk his love 
Like flowing wine, and lived by it! 

Oc. Rail on, 

If railing pleases you. In aftertime 
You 11 love the better for it. 

Diony. Bight! Give her leave. 

And she will stroke you where she meant to strike. 

Ara. You love Theano! 

Oc, Ah, — ^I did, perhaps, 

A thousand years ago. All now's forgot 
But that thou mayst be mine. 

Ara. O, false 

Oc. O true! 

What was scarce fair to unpossessing eyes. 
Perfection is when gods have made it ours. 
Thou wilt forgive me that I loved thee not 
While thou wert Dion's, for my eyes were sealed 
By loyalty to him. But this divorce 
That frees thee gives me sight. I see, and love. 
And by that love still dost thou grow more fair. 
For is not love a second, truer eye. 
Finding out beauty where the first could not? 
No more! Well plead hereafter. 'Tis an hour 
To win, not woo. Swords must be burnished, sails 
Must meet the wind! 

Ara. Are you Ocrastes? No! 

O, no! He is the son of Dion's love, 
And you would wed his wife. He was a poor 
Forsaken babe, his mighty heritage 


Plunder for any thief. Twas Diem then 
Became his father, gave him life and wealth. 
And that sweet breeding that till now did show 
So fair in him. Oerastes owes him all 

Oc. Ay, all! E'en wisdom. He would caU me tool 
Stayed I from maiket when thy richest self 
Courts any passing bid. Since he must lose 

Ara. Nay, every touch will be a three-fold shame 
Robbing a husband, benefactor, friend. 
My eyes will mirror those reproachful days 
When Dion's care was fond about us botL 
His kisses guard my lips. His praise of you 
Will block your words in my assaulted ears. 

Oc. You know me not. My words shall be love's fire 
Burning the track of Dion's pale discourse. 
My kisses on your lips hold festal war 
With his till they, poor ghosts, shall flee. And dews 
Of happiness shall wash all pictures out 
From your fair eyes but my enthroned own 
Which hourly I'D new-set in their fair glass! 

Ara. I called you brother! . . . O, my lords, I b^ — 
Some one of you — ^to take me for — ^your — ^wife. 

[Faints. OcraMes supports her. Curtain] 


Scene 1. A chamber in the paiace. Nauresta on bed 
asleep. PhUlistua watching. 

Phil. This poison's swift. Here is her cup. Whypalter? 
A drop will do it. [Oazes at her] 

'Tis when we sleep the touch 
Of life is gentlest. Even affliction's kiss 
Falls like a rose upon the sense-shut lid. 
Then he most miserable is as the happy, 
And who so happy that is not then more blest? 
And since that death is sleep's eternal sum, 
Why should I pause, nor grant this precious good? 
O, I could moralize me to a god 
Who holds the cup of bKss for Kp beloved. 
Nauresta, drink, and in this UtUe drop 
Sip everlasting ease. [Pours poison] 

'Tis done. I've reached 
From mortal shores and opened Hades' gate. 
Ay, with the gesture of a hand have hooked 

Nau. \Waking] Phillistus, you? 

PhU. 'Tis I, 

Beloved Nauresta. 

Nau. Flowers! You have brought them? 

PhU. Can I forget you love them? 

Nau. Ah, my friends! 



They wear no frown to dash down hearts; nor chide 
When ears are sick for quickening praise; but yidd 
Their royal payment for each passing care; 
No vagrant dew gives them its moistening heart 
But they must pay it thrice in perfimied beauty, 
And bury it as never king shall Ue. 
O himian faces, might ye turn to flowers. 
How many broken hearts would live again! 

Phil. This is a covert chiding of my faults. 
So deep repented, love. Ill make thee happy. 

Nau. My gentle daughter — she that I could call 
A sister to this rose — ^her mute complaints 
Cry like dumb, wounded birds to my sore heart. 
And I pass by nor help. For what, Phillistus? 
That you may wear a crown in Syracuse. 
A crown that is the golden nest of cares. 
Brooded by every dismal wing may hatch 
An enemy to peace. 

Phil. And when didst grow 

So wise, Nauresta? 

Nau. Midnight hours teach wdl. 

Some sleepless nights would help you too, I think. 
Wise? Ay, and not too late! Ill be no more 
Your shield while you make thrust at brave Ocrastes. 
Ill give him my Theano. 

Phil. Does he know? 

Nau. Not yet. I weakly thought to pay old love 
The grace of first confession. 

Phil. [Kissing her hand] Thanks for that. 
This sudden turning of a heart long loyal 
Has left me numb. You know how dear my purpose 
That she should wed a lord of my own faction. 
Give me an hour, but one, before you speak. 
You break the bough that held my care-built nest. 
And old wings go not blithely after straw. 


Nau. They've learned to wait, and who would count 
an hour 
Before the long day of unbroken love? 
. . . I'm weary now, Phillistus. 

PhU. Rest thee, sweet. 

[She sleeps] 
Ah, not too soon I spiced her cup. The way 
Grows perilous, and I must mount with care 
To my high seat, lest I should rise to fall; 
For though the path to crowns be long and slant, 
There's no way down but by a precipice. 

[Enter Theano bearing an urn which she places on table 
by cup] 

The. You're faithful, sir. [Bends over Nauresta] 
Her brow is calm again. 

PhU. Now were I ill 'twould quickly make me well 
To have so fair a face above my bed. 

The. Hear, my lord, you'd die ere mine should be there ! 

Phil. Surely 'tis no ofiFence to call you fair. 

The. Beauty lives not upon your commendation, 
Nor with your silence dies. Spare me, my lord. 
The cymbal clap of words that add no jot 
To fairness. 

PhU. Pardon me, dear girl. I was 
Your father's friend 

The. I strive not to forget it. 

Phil. And could I have your love- 

The. All that is good 

In you I love. Now thou'st the measure, sir, 
For my affection. Is it small enough? 

Phil. By heaven, you do not mince it! 

Nau. [Waking] Is that my daughter? 

The. See, mother, I have brought this drink for you. 
[Pours beverage into cup and offers to Nauresta] 
There's health in't. Is there not, Phillistus? 


Pha. Ay, 

Health and long life. [Nauresta drinJcs] 

Nau. There's virtue in the cup. 

Even now I'm better. 
The. Now? 

Nau. O, I could rise! 

[Sits up] 
I The. No, dear. Be patient yet. 

Nau. Nay, 111 be up! 

Pray call Methone, love, to dress me. . . . Ah, 
Whence comes this lighter heart? How good to have it! 
I feel like a new-pardoned prisoner 
Tasting the air. Smile, sweet! Those lily lids 
Shall droop no more with woe I lay upon them. 

[Enter Methone with robes] 
Now, now, Methone, make me young again. 
O, not that robe! 'Tis for a grandame that. 
My sky-gray mantle with its falling softness 
Broidered Uke sunset clouds! 

[Exit Methone] 

The. I beg you, sweet 

Nau. Wilt smooth my hair? Nay, let it be as 'tis. 
This way. Ah — ^now — [FaUs back] O! Help me! Hdp; 
Let go, ye furies! 

The. Mother! 

Meth. [Entering] Mistress! mistress! 

Nau. 'Tis poison! poison! I am murdered. O! 

My daughter — ^tell her — ^tell her — ^ah — Ocrastes 

The. ELave mercy. Heaven! O, Phillistus, help her! 

[Faints. PhiUistus holds her] 
Phil. [To Methone] Gro call your comrades here. 

[Exit Methone] 
Even now you're mine. 
Ocrastes! Ha! Her last word was his name. 


I'll turn this crook of fortune to accoimt. 
And make a god of accident. 

The. [Reviving] O! O! 

Misfortune makes my heart her sanctuary. 
So many woes take shelter there. 

Phil. One woe 

You have escaped. Ocrastes' wicked love. 
O villainous! I dare not think of it! 
That he would poison one so dear to you- 

The. Man, man, care for your soul! There is no stain 
So black as when the gall of calunmy 
Breaks on the snow of virtue! You must rate 
Your precious life at naught. Ocrastes, sir. 
Will have your slanderous heart for this! 

Phil. He may. 

If 'tis your wish. You heard her cry his name 
As though she saw her murderer. 

The. She cried— 

Ah, yes — ^I heard — What did she mean? 

Phil. The truth. 

The. Make me not mad! — ^He's never entered here. 

Phil. Why should he when a little gold will buy 
A hand for any deed? 

The. The gold— the gold 

He gave to Brentio! Dear Juno, help! 
My mind strays from me. 

Phil. Hast not found him changed? 

Full of quick passions — contradictions — ^words 
Of broken point? Seen shadows on his face 
As though his mind were brooding darker matter 
Than could be kept within 't? Bethink thee well, 
For memory's eye reflective oft repeals 
The confirmation of the grosser sight. 
And what so pleased the entertained sense 
Shows in her studied glass a fearful front. 


The. O, stop thy tongue of death! My prcmiiae to him — 
So strangely asked — so strangdy given! O! 

Phil. Thy mother's word 

The. O, let me die, die, die! 

Phil. My girl, all things that be may be endured. 
Death does not come for this or that affliction. 
But when 'tis time to knock. Up, sweet Theano! 
By fortune's rudder, wheel and horn of bounty. 
You shall rise fair above this foul mischance! 
[Re-enter Methone] 

Meth. My lady, lord Ocrastes b^s to see you. 

The. No, no! Not now. 

Phil. Ay, see him now, Theano. 

Show him the burden of this bed, nor let 
The damned simulation of his eye 
Deceive you. Bravely tell him to his face 
None better knows the gate she came by death. 

The. You he! . . . And yet I can not see him now. 
Though he is innocent, my wicked promise 
Bums like accusing fire by this dear form. 

Meih. Mistress, he comes! 

Phil. I'll leave you with him. Courage! 

[PhiUistus retreats to curtains, left. ErUer Ocrastea] 

The. You dare come here? 

Oc. I dare? 

The. O, see, Ocrastes, 

What lieth here ! The shell of what even now 
Was she who gave me Inrth. 

Oc. Not dead? Ah, love! 

The. Call me not love! Not here — and now. O, go! 

Oc. Theano! 

The. Touch me not! My doubt will make 

Your hand a thing of fire! 

Oc Dear heart, fend off 

This sea of woe or twill sweep reason with it. 


I could be wild with strange things that I know. 
And came to tell you of, but for your sake 
I'm calm. 

The. Dost know, sir, she was poisoned? 

Oc. Poisoned? 

Forgive me, love. Be mad now as thou wilt. 
Still thy distraction will be stinted measure 
For grief so dark. Poisoned! O, who 

The. Who? Who? 

That is the question thrusts me like a sword. 
All loved her — ^all. She had no enemy. 

Oc. [Calmly] You spoke of doubt. What did you mean, 

The. Leave me, Ocrastes! GU)! 

Oc. Phillistus 

The. No! 

He loved her well. That was his touch of Heaven. 
O, who had cause but 

Oc. Do not say it. I go. 

Not deity descending from the skies 
To make our peace could now unite us. Ay, 
Thou 'rt dead to me as that cold body. 

The. Oh-h! [Swoms] 

Oc. And in that bosom did I come to set 
A purpose I'd not whisper now to death 
Lest his dumb lips should tattle. Alone — ^alone. 
To grapple in the dark the beast of chance! 
. . . Affection on my track shall ache to death. 
Friendship in blood lie mute, and love I'll tear 
From its high heaven to plunge like Ate's coals 
On Pluto's fire! lExvt] 

Phil. [Comes forward and revives Theano] 
Sweet girl, he's gone. 

The. [Rising] Where is he? 

Phil. HeTl trouble thee no more. 


The. Heat me the irons! 

This tongue shall be burnt out that dared accuse him! 

Phil. She's mad indeed! 

The. Nay, sir, the cloud of pitch 
That blinded me is gone. [Enter maids] Touch her not 

yet. [Maids stand aside\ 
M ethone, hasten Brentio to find 
The noblest lord in Syracuse. 

Meth: Who, mistress? 

The. Who but Ocrastes? Go! 

Phil. [Approaching her] Theano 

The. Sir, 

We have no need of you. I pray you, go. [Kneels by bed] 
He will forgive, then I will die with thee! 

Phil. Nay, by the gods, should you so die, my maid» 
Then Sicil' will have groaning cause 'gainst one 
Who robs her country to make rich her grave. 
Immortal Beauty must herself go wronged 
Should you so break her living mould in you. 
And drain her veins to your fair body trusted 
For warm and deathless passage. 

The. [Springing up] Are you man 

Or monster that you foul this hour with thought 
So gross? 

Phil. A man — ^no more, no less — ^who loves 
Your mother's daughter. Hate me as you will, 
I here adopt your grief, — ^with oath and tear 
Take it to love as my own child of woe. 
And swear you faith to death. 

The. The gods, my lord, 

Record not oaths of men till they've received 
The confirmation of an act. Ill wait 
Their seal on yours. 

Phil. This night 


The. Sir, will you go? 

Stay not to rouse Ocrastes' rage. 

Phil. You think 

Hell come? 

The. I've sent for him. 

Phil. You're proudly sure. 

Will coo your loves by this forbidding bed? 

The. Ay, for her hovering shade knows now the truth. 
[Enter Heraclides] 

Her. Pardon, my lord, that I have sought you out. 
The hour like an imbridled courser needs 
Strong hands upon it. Ah, — death here? 

Phil. There lies 

Delay's excuse, — and yet 'tis none, for woe 
Whose feast is but a heart should lift no head 
Beside the large calamity that makes 
A morsel of a state. How goes our matter? 

Her. Aristocles is locked within the castle. 
In care of Dionysius' guards. 

PhU. Ah, then 

He's safe. 

Her. As safe as we could wish, my lord. 
And I've yet fresher news. Ocrastes joins us. 
With wealth and courage like an Atlas back 
To bear our venture. 

Phil. He revolts from Dion? 


Her. He, my lord. 

Phil. What works this change? 

Her. A lady's morning cheek and golden hair. 
He now is wed to absent Dion's wife. 

Phil. What say you, sir? 

Her. The lords were in debate 

Of who should have her, when out comes Ocrastes, 


And cries his daim with such o'er-riding proof 

That Dionysius claps a quick assent 

And all the court confirm him sullenly. 

Ocrastes goes to Italy for troops 

To meet the force which Dion brings from Greece 

Phil. But this new marriage! Tell us more. Belike 
I've missed some sport. 

Her. Sport? Ha! It was a scene. 

Phil. But went the lady to him willingly? 

Her. O, she was modest, played chameleon 
And changed color rhythmically, as though 
A music of sweet shades sat on her cheek. 
Then coyly swooned, but her reviving eye, 
Methinks, looked kindly on his youthful beauty. 

PhU. [Watchiry Thearu)] And the young lord? Did not 
his countenance 
Play hers a blushing match? 

Her. Ay, shame and will 

Mapped out his face between 'em, but short met 
In love's red constancy. 

The. O! O! 

Her. Once more 

The lady fainted, but 'twas in his arms. 
Ha, ha! 

The. And yet I live! 

Phil. How long, my lord. 

Since this bold comedy? 

Her. 'Tis now two hours 

Behind us. 

Phil. [To Theano] Ah, before he came to you! 
What shamdess shame! 

The. He loved me! How — O, why? 

PhU. Nay, ask not why. As well essay to trace 
The legend that the soft and curling foam 


Writes on the shaken wave as fix love's path 

With steady eye or his vagaries mark. 

Farewell an hour. Ill come again to-night 

To serve your grief. Youll learn at last to trust me. 

And in my heart seek comfort. 

[Exeunt PhiUistits and Heraelidea] 

The. Oh, oh, oh! 

He does not love her. Would he did! I then 
Might honor him that dared dishonor truth 
For love's almighty sake, — ^but 'twas to save 
His life. Ah, me, his life that sav6d thus 
Abates all value and becomes as clay. 

Meth. Sweet mistress! 

The. O, O me! 

Meth. Stay this hot flood. 

Tears bring no lover back. Ay, not though maids 
Should weep until their cheeks were but a mead 
For two salt brooks to play. 

The. O, leave me! 

Meth. Nay 

The. Leave me, I say! Away! [ExU Methone] 

O death! Olife!— 
Which wears the darker face? Here is my choice. 

[FaUs by Nauresta's body] 


Scene 2. A bare room in the casUe fort. Aristocles alone. 

Aris. They said a bed would be provided me. 
But nothing's here. And nothing's all he needs. 
Who holds himself a soul stripped of the world 
And its necessities. [Lies dovm] 

That fellow took 
My doak. Good luck to him. Philosophy, 


Thou art the only sail no wind may drive 
Into misfortune's port. How still the woiid! 
The sUence like a great Accuser stares, 
FuU of dumb curses looking from large eyes. 

[Rises and walks] 
... I will not see her more. O, quickly come. 
Ye stoic angels wont to wait on me, 
And with the cords of resolution stout 
Bind ye my purpose to the throne of 25eus 
That it may shake but with Olympus' self! 
. . . Will she not think me harsh to leave her so? 
She who is made of all earth's gentle things — 
The scent of mom, the first green on the bough, 
The valley dews where infant blossoms drink. 
The going light with rose heart yearning back, — 
Yet brave, and like a new Hippolita 
Might wear the belt of Mars. O, flower of heaven. 
Yet wrapped in soft and strange delirium 
Of odors once Elysian! Naught to me. 
Who will not see her more. Now is she dead. 
And I know but a grave. Ill sleep . . . sleep . . . sleep. 

[Lies still. Enter Aratea. She is veiled, and her un- 
bound hair falls about her form] 

Ara. [Drawing inner holt to door] I scarce could bribe 
the guard to let me pass! 
[Looks about room and sees Aristocles] 
Asleep? [Crosses to him. Unveils] Bise, friend! 

Aris. [Starting] My dream. 

Ara. Aristocles! 

Aris. [Rising] You? you? 

Ara. I, friend. 

Aris. 'Tis you — ^and yet 'tis not. 

A stranger soul, disordered and unknown. 
Looks from your eyes. 


Ara. My brother's false to thee. 

This castle's murder's trap, and you are caught m 't! 

Aris. I've had some thought 'twas so. I die to-night? 

Ara. No, no! dear Heaven! See! 

[O'pens door, left] This inner room. 
It has a hidden stairway to the sea 
Where waits a boat will bear you to a sail 
New-spread for Greece, with crew that know the wave 
As though b^ot of mermaids. 

Arts. No! To make 

Presumptuous end of life is an offence 
To Heaven, but gracious gods may offer death 
For honorable choice — as they do now — 
And here I choose it. 

Ara. Thy choice then must be mine. 

My hope was you would fly and hasten Dion 
To my deliverance. For I am sold. 
The cords of bondage cut in very flesh. 
But ask not now of this. This letter here 
Will tell my lord what I have spared you. Go, 
Or I've no hope, and then — ^by this bright blade — 

[showing a dagger] 

Aris. Ah, what you will! Conmiand me. 

Ara. [Moving left] Come! 

Into this chamber! 

[Exeunt, and in a momerd re-enter] 
O, the door new-sealed! 
Apollo help us now! . . . Did you not see 
The narrow window in that chamber? 

Aris. Ay, 

The stars looked on us as we passed, as though 
They smiled to see how man would measure time 
With periods clept death. 


Ar<i. [FearfuUjf] If jon — cocdd ! 

Aris. I wtSL 

Am. Tb not far down — bnt O, the rocks 

Jut up like UMHisters. No! You shall not do it 
Twere death with iiMe pain. 

Aris. Then IH die here. 

To go from your fair presence to the gods 
Is hardly change. 

Ara. Twould change the worid that lost thee. 

Then would this isle uncrown herself of joy. 
And palsying shake beauty from her lap. 
The flowers would die in pain, and every leaf 
Fast wither, fade and fall, as those that moan 
0*er Thracian Phyllis' grave. I will not stay 
Without my friend. Ah no, 'twould not be life. 

Aria. The longest days are breaths, quick-drawn and 
The longest life a day to be forgot. 
Thou soon wouldst come. 

Ara. I could not find the way. 

'TIS with your eyes, not mine, I catch the light 
Unalterable upon immortal brows 
And keep my course. 

Aris. Nay, thou'st no need of guide. 

Shine out, bright soul, and dim thy troubling stars. 

Ara. [Turns aside, weeping] You do not know! 

Aris. Be true unto the calm 

Of Heaven in you set. Who trust to aught 
That's of their souls exteme but give themselves 
As feathers to the wind. 

Ara. [Slowly] My lord, this night. 

By Dionysius' force, my hand was given 
In marriage to Ocrastes. Dost thou hear? 
Ocrastes sails this hour for Italy. 
Ere he returns 


Arts. Thou'st whirled away my soul ! 

O stroke of Disi O faithless Heaven! He? 
Not he! Such mid-hell treachery is out 
Of mortal meaning! 

Ara. He is mad, I think. 

He loves me not 

Arts. I'd sport a madman too! 

Wear lunacy as doth a king his purple, 
If that would draw a goddess from the skies 
To quiet in my arms! Did it not strain 
Forbearance to the snap that Dion — ^whose wisdom 
Himibles the mouth of 25eus — ^whose justice is 
The boast of shades when Rhadamanthus blunders — 
Should wear the chiefest pearl to mortals cast — 
Sweet Beauty's sole extravagance — as 'twere 
A something to be stained with human love 
And gods not question it? Who then could see 
It made the common booty of a thief, 
Nor break the cable of a mind controlled 
And lose the shore of reason? Who? 

Ara. [Kneeling] Be calm 

If thou wouldst help me. 

Arts. [Not heeding] Kty, weep, weep, weep! 
O, from thy woeful heaven cast a dew 
As imiversal as the East when she 
To every herb throws pearls! 

Ara. [Leaping up] The guards! They come! 

But I go wiUi thee, sir. 'Tis not farewell. 

Aris. [Calm] Not you. I die because Elysian mates 
Now summon me. No need excuses there 
The guest intrusive. Stay thee for thy call, 
Nor but to save an hour of painful breath 
Cut ever oflF the never ending day 
We two shall walk the clouds too happy e'en 
To love. Give me that hope, and dying now 


I live. Deny it, and 'tis you, not swords, 
That wound. They slay poor flesh, that gauzy breath 
Sole guards from wormy ravage. You would strike 
My never-healing soul! Those steps of doom 

Ara. Hark! Ah — ^theypass! Dear gods, is there no way? 

Arts. The window. 

Ara. No! 

Arid. Ill make the leap and live 

To set you free! 

Ara. No, no! The rocks would gash 

More cruelly than swords. Wait — O! Blest Heaven! 
Thou 'rt saved! Wait here ! 

[Runs into inner room] 

Aria. Go, spirit beautiful! 

Her hair enrobes her like a parted cloud 
That opes to show us Heaven. . . . Give now my flesh 
To swords, ye gods, but save me from the death 
That has no end! . . . 

[Re-enter Araiea^ shorn of her locks, which she lays at 
Aristocles* feet. Her veil is draped about her, conceal- 
ing her loss\ 

O! Maimed, my goddess? 

Ara. See? 

I knew you'd say me nay. But now 'tis done. 

Aris. Those locks of Venus' gold. 

Ara. The dagger served. 

Aris. Too well! 

Ara. [Weaving the locks] Not so. Now, now a rope to 
Eternity for thee! More strands! Lend me 
Your l^htnings, blessed skies, to weave this chain! 

Aris. Your flying fingers need them not. 

Ara. More, more! 

A thousand hairs, they say, will hold a man. 

Aris. Ay, one will do it. 


Ara. Merry, my lord? Why not? 

Apollo, smile upon us! I know we dream. 
See how I make this fast? It is your life 
I lengthen. 

Aris. O, 'tis bought too preciously! 

[Takes up a lock and kisses it] 
What waste of sun and gold! 

Ara. Nay, when you're safe, 

111 cast it to fair Venus on the sea, 
A votive oflFering. Look now! 'Tis done. 

Aris. So soon? 

Ara. And you must go. 

Aris. Art sure 'tis done? 

Ara. Afraid, my lord? 

Aris. Afraid! 

Ara. You see 'tis finished. 

Aris. Ay, 'tis. 

Ara. The window — come! Well make this fast — 
And then — ^farewell! 

Aris. Till I return with Dion. 

Ara. Return? No, no, my lord! O, come no more 
To this cursed land. Be happy in thy Athens. 
And Plenty bless thee as thou wert her child. 
Swelling thy measure till prosperity 
Hang on thy look like fruit invisible 
Dropping to whom thou wilt. 

Aris. And you — and you — 

My heart is dumb. What gods wish for themselves 
Become a human fortune and befall thee! 

[Exeunt. Guards approa^ch and beat door. Re-enter 

Ara. Strike, dogs! Some say Apollo fathered him. 
O, god of melody, guard thou the life 
That beats a perfect song! 

[Door falls and Domenes enters with guards] 


Dam. What! Who b this? 

Ara. A princess, sir. 

Dom. Where is the prisoner? 

Ara. He's gone. 

Dofn. Gone! How? Where? 

Ara. Did not Zeus himself 

Steal Ganymede? Why not Aristodes? ^ 

[Curtam] « 


Scene: The grove of Ceres on the righit a temple partly 
visible. The island of Ortygia in rear^ separated from 
mainland by a very narrow channel with wall on the 
Ortygian side running off stage left, to channel bridge 
where the ensuing conflict is supposed to centre. The 
island extends down to the Lesser Harbor, centre rear^ 
which widens to a sea-glimpse at right. On the island 
shore in the farthest distance is outlined the temple of 
Artemis. Part of the Ortygian castle is shown on an 
island, left, the lower part concealed by channel wall. 

At extreme left, front, the entrance to Phillistus^ dwelling is 
seen. Between dwelling and channel a road leads to^ 
ward the bridge. At front of stage a road runs left 
toward the Greater Harbor, and right toward Epipolai, 
the outermost portion of the city. 

On the right, toward rear, terraces lead up to the heights of 
Achridina. Various statues are seen, the largest being 
a Victory at entrance to grove. Off the stage, left front, 
over Greater Harbor, the sun is setting, throwing 
gradually softening tints and increoMng shadows. 

Troops of soldiers, laughing and talking with citizens in 
holiday costume, come up the road from the Greater 
Harbor and pass off toward Epipolai. Speusippus, 
Ascander, and Timoleon, enter from grove and stand 
near the Victory. At right front enter young men 
arrayed for banqueting, bearing wreaths, torches, etc. 
They turn to rear and pass up terraces toward Achridina, 



O, pleasoie is the wing of Time, 
Care his lim{Miig, leaden foot! 
Too late, too late, for laugh and Thyme 
When (Ad Winter's at the root 
Of desire. 
And no fire 
Can thaw the frost wfaeie we lie mute. 

Then come all and feast ye now! 

Come catch Love, the pretty rover! 
Not a maiden bind her brow 
With a rose mikissed by lover! 
As a flower 
Is Cupid's hour. 
And where he flies none can discover. 

[Exeunt toward the heights of Achridina] 

Timoleon. So turns our war into a holiday. 
Here Dion lands, and swift the tjrrant flies 
With all his boasted guard into the castle. 
While Syracuse throws open gate and arms 
To welcome her besieger. 

Ascander. By Artemis! 

Didst see him marching in? — Calippus on 
One side, Aristocles on t'other — their corselets white 
Fair shining in the sun, and each with locks 
Bright garlanded? — close treading them the guards — 
The hundred Grecian guards that watch by Dion, 
Then all his men in battle order placed? 

Tim. But when his trumpeter blew from the gate. 
And all the people upward looked in silence 
While he declared them subjects but of Heaven, 
No wonder that each eye turned fount and flowed. 

Asc. Then 'twas the wet cheek mariced the noble heart. 
And the unwatercd eve was shame. 


Tim. And now 

His soldiers rove throughout the dty, while 
The people lean from walls Uke branching trees 
And shake a crop of blessings. 

Asc. Kisses too! 

E'en in the streets the women set their tables, 
And from their wreathed urns pour Cretan wine 
For Dion*s men. 

Tim. What says my lord Speusippus? 

The only sour-face in all Syracuse. 

Speu. And cause enough. A pretty soldier, sir. 
Who'd choose to march with flowers in his hand 
Like smirking virgin on Diana's day! 
I thought the tyrant would show tooth of war 
And not turn tail and kennel. 

Tim. [Starting] What noise is that? 

It cuts the air unlike a feasting cry. 

Speu. By Mars, I pray our swords will yet have airing. 
And good fresh drink too! 

Tim. Here's a man, Ascander. 

He courts dame Trouble as she were his wench. 

Speu. Tut, tut, my friends, I've but a soldier's relish 
For an honest fight. What's there to fear? Besides, 
I have a trick to dodge misfortune's blows. 

Tim. What's that, Speusippus? 

Speu. Why, if breaks my cup, 

I think what now an it had been my vase 
From Phelas' shop? I break my vase, and straight 
I cry ho! ho! now had my house been burnt 
That were a woe ! But bums my house indeed, 
I think of wife and child who perished not; 
When dies my wife or son, I thank the gods 
That Death crept all so near and touched not me. 
And when his certain hour to clutch me comes 
111 think of famines, plagues, of earthquakes, floods. 


And nations swept away. And still 111 cure 
Such broad affliction with the thought of how 
The Universe itself is but a shell 
To crackle when it please the hand that made it. 
So, friends, I mend each woe with its own cloth 
Till all looks well again. 

Tim. Ay, but the patch 

Is greater than the garment. 

[Enter Ccdippus^ hurrying] 

Speu. Ho, Calippus! 

Cat. Hail, friends! But stay me not. I run to join 
The general without the city gates. 

Asc. What? Dion? 

Cai. Ay! 

Tim. Without the gates? 

Cal. 'Tis so. 

PhiUistus and the admiral have seized 
Excitement's topping hour to turn all hearts 
With fear's mad eloquence, — saying that Dion 
Comes to avenge his wrongs and set up rule 
More cruel than Dionysius dared. And so 
This gay and garlanded humanity 
Troop to these traitors, while lord Dion camps 
Without the city. 

Speu. Grods! Did he go mildly? 

By Erebus' black daughter, I'd have turned 
And beat them to subjection. Not a blow? 

Cal. He came to lift their yoke, not add another. 
And struck to heart with their ingratitude 
Gave them their choice, nor made warlike retort 
Beyond to warn them, with his finger lifted 
To yonder frowning castie, that the tyrant 
Was bayed, not conquered. 

Tim. Conquered? No! ^j. 

The city never knew a woe till now. . ■^^. 


Speu, Ay, Syracuse should with one general bray 
Cry ass to Heaven. O, mullets of Abdera, 
Would ye be kings, come reign in Sicily! 

Asc, Phillistus has no force to meet the foe 
Will belch from that black fort. 

Speu. Haste, friends, to Dion! 

Cai. YouTl go? 

Speu. What else? There 11 be some good play yet. 
Bray, Syracuse, thou populated ass! 
[Exeunt. The sunlight fades into ivnlight, and the full 
moon rises, right, rear, where the Lesser Harbor widens 
to the sea. Theano comes out of Phillistus^ house and 
places fresh verbenas on the entrance altar. An Ama- 
zon follows her] 
The. Though gods forget me 111 remember them. 
[Sees the Amazon] Stand back! Ill not be dogged! 
[The Amazon advanxies, folds her arms and takes station 
near Theano, who turns wearily from her and looks 
out upon the scene] 

Well for this earth 
That Beauty keeps her court for gods not men, 
Nor clouds for mortal mourning! O, fair city. 
And fairer night, how strange and cold your smile 
Upon my heart! . . . The slave is gone. That means 
Phillistus comes. 
[Phillistus enters opposite and stands in shadow, gazing 

at Theano] 
Phil. I've little hope to cheat her more. Her eyes 
Are at the windows of my heart and read 
Each dark recess. Well, let love go if 't must. 
The joys of hate are no less deep, — and she 
Is mine! [Approaches] Theano? I am here. 
The. I see. 

PhM. My day <rf days has come! One kiss to crown it. 
Mit fltin mddnd? Ah, sweet, where is the smile 


Should dress thee in a fairer light than gilds 
The crystal Thetis when Hyperion woos? 
What I not a kiss. 

The. This statue's sculptured lips 

Are warmer, sir. 

Phil. To me! 

The. Though on your brow 

Yon Victory should drop her high-held wreath 
You'd be no more nor less than now. Who wears 
The unseen chaplet given of spirit hands 
To him whose soul is virtue, needeth not 
Ambition's leafy handful that oft makes 
The mortal brow vaunt as it grew the trees 
Of all Olympus. 

PhiL What a welcome here 

For Sicily's new king! Know, my Theano, 
That Dionysius is to castle beaten. 
And treacherous Dion from the city thrust. 
While Heraclides with me shares the power 
Soon to be mine alone, for his fall, too. 
Already is assured. 

The. Then thou hast topped 

The very summit of thy bold desire. 

Phil. True! Aspiration now, lit like a lark 
On Fortune's steeple, sings above all hazard. 
My loved Theano, thou'rt queen of Syracuse; 
Well sleep to-night like happy royalty 
In honor's bed. 

The. The stone of Sisyphus 

Will gather moss ere that may be, Phillistus. 
You gave the safety of your stable house 
To my bewildered grief. 'Twas noble, sir. 
Though mine was woe would make a lion sheathe 
His hungry claws and pass on softest foot. 
But not for gold or throne will I be yours. 


Not for all sapphires that have kissed in crowns. 
All rubies that in deepest caves make day, 
Would I be wife to you, or take your hand 
Though to be plucked into Elysium! 

Phil, So? By the fires of Dis, 111 end this play! 
Dost think me your poor slave to sweat for naught? 
An ass to bear your pack for chaff and straw? 

The. My lord? 

Phil. Did I risk all to play the nurse 
Unto your tedious grief for a false lover? 
All Syracuse knows you his fool, and yet 
You'd play Penelope, and hope to sit 
With tears of twenty years upon your cheeks! 
O stare and wonder, gasp, and sir! and ho! 
Weep if you will, and pray your baby prayers. 
I've done with ah's and oh's and niceties! 

The. O now this monster shows its head! 

PhU. Go in! . . . 

Wilt have me call the slave? 

The. Beware, Phillistus! 

Phil. Of what, or whom? 

The. Of Heaven, sir! 

PhU. Ha! ha! 

What powers there owe not their reign to man? 
The mind at holiday makes gods for sport 
And gives them us for masters. When I'm crowned 
111 banish all these idle, meddling wits. 
These boggy brains that spring with toadstool thrones 
Decked with a deity. 

The. And yet the gods 

Now hear thee! 

Phil. Say they do, love rules 'mong gods 

As men. Doubt not they'll wink at my warm suit. 

The. O, thy black soul will be the scorn of devils 
When hell has claimed thee! 


Phil. Know me blacker still! 

Since hate must be the bond between our hearts, 
111 bum this into thine — ^thy father's death 
Was by my hand made sure, that I might woo 
Your foolish mother, who drank in turn my cup. 
Yet shall I wear the blossom of your love 
Fair on my bosom, and the fruit shall grow 
To propagate my house. So silent, madam? 
Is not this news? You would not coo for me; 
May I not hear you rave? 

The. Who, who could speak? 

Now swirling harpies pluck away my soul. 
And leave me here a shell that yet can breathe! 

Phii. Ah, you shall breathe and Uve for me — ^for me! 

The. O lust, whose sovereign heel treads life 
As destiny had given bond and stamp for 't! 

Phii. Ay, my desire would charter hell for breath 
And blow her fires to desolate the world 
Ere lose thee now! 

[Enter a messenger from the bridge road] 

Mess. Sir, Heraclides begs your instant aid! 
The castled enemy have darted forth 

PhU. How? Where? 

Mess. Behind the wall — ^across the bridge! 
Like adder's tongue they've struck the sleeping dty. 
Now Heraclides calls for men to guard 
The channel crossing. 

Phil. Say 111 join him there. 

At once! Away! 

[Eoni messenger] 

Phil. [Calls] Sagunda! Amaz<m! 

[Ragunda comes out of Phillishis^ house] 
Take in your charge, and keep a closer watdi. 
Your life, as hers, is short or loag. 

[To Theano] In, madam! 


The. Here dies my faith. O chance-made woild, 
By Demiurgus turning in his sleep! 

[Goes in with Ragunda. Enter second messenger] 

Mess. O, sir 

Phii. Pray put your periods after news, 
Not 'fore. 

Mess. My lord, the tjrrant's guards have made 
A second murderous sally from the castle. 
And with great brands of flame have fired the dty ! 
Now Dionysius, knowing he must forego 
The tyranny, would utterly destroy us, 
And wipe from earthly chronicle the name 
Of Syracuse ! 

PhU. Ill come . . . when I have turned 
A bolt within. [Goes in] 

[Enter third messenger] 
Third mess. Where is Phillistus? 
Second mess. [Pointing to house] There. 
Third mess. The people rage against him, and have sent 
Again to Dion, praying his return. 

[Re-enter Phillistus] 
Phil. Dion! Hell come. Then farewell crown and life! 
Where, men? 

Third mess. The fight is hardest where the wall 
Runs to the channel. 
PhU. On! That is the place. 

[Exeunt toward bridge. The sky darkens, clouding the 
moon. On the road, from the Greater Harbor enter 
men, women, and children, who run about confiLsedly 
in the darkness] 
First voice. Where is the lord Phillistus? 
Second voice. Heraclides is wounded. 
^idwioe. Dogs! They brought this hell on us! 
* fejrtjjr. The guards! The guards! 


[Sddiers of Dionystus rush on, road lefty front, carrying 
brands which they caM abovi. They seize the people 
and put all to the sword] 

Soldiers. To Achridina! To the heights! Bum all! 

[Exeunt, right, rear, scattering brands, one of which lights 
the temple of Ceres seen through the trees, left. Enter 
citizens, left, front. They carry arms. Burning brands 
reveal the dead] 
First citizen. See, friends! Here lie our pictures as 
well be 
A moment hence. 
Second cit. No hope now but in Dion ! 
Third cit. [As Dracan enters] Dracon ! 
Dracon. All lost — ^all lost. Put up your swords. 
The Carthaginian fleet lies in the bay. 
And by the sea-gate to the castle fort 
Empties her men into the tyrant's hand! 
Second cit. O Syracuse! 

Dracon. And next upon this news 

Phillistus and the admiral desert us. 
Flying to Dionysius. 

Voices. Traitors! dogs! 

Dracon. And now though Dion should forgive our 


Voices. He will ! he will ! 

Dracon. His force and ours united 

Can not make stand against the strengthened foe. 
Voices. O woeful night! O bloody, bloody night! 
Third cit. Now sword and fire will make such havoc 
'mong us 
There 11 not be breath enough in all the dty 
To say good-morrow to the sun. 

[Cheers withovt, right, front. Enter a warrior at the 
head of troops. He wears helmet and carries shield] 


Warrior, Shame, shame! 

O, Syracusans, shame ! If ye be men, 
Let battle take the garb of order, and death 
Array itself in decency ! I've brought 
A band of noble Leontines to strike 
With who shall prove no coward ! Lift your swords 
Till Victory sees them shining through the night 
And knows which way to bend her doubtful wings! 
On, on, my men! On, Syracusans, on! 

\AU go off lefty cheering. Enter Gylippus, rigM, rear, 

Gylipjms. Ill drop me here till flame or steel o'er- 
take me. [FaUs dovm] 

Menodes. [Entering] Gylippus? Wounded? 

Gy. Deep enough. No matter. 

Wounds are Bellona's favors. Do you bleed? 

Men, I lose an arm. 'Twas a warm kiss that took it. 

Gy. Hast seen the stranger and his Leontines? 
He goes through fire as 'twere a pastime loved. 
Shaking the burning timbers from his back 
As they were flies. 

Men. Thrice has he formed 

The citizens for charge, though night and flame 
War on confusion's side. 

Gy, Ocrastes comes 

With ships that treble all sent out from Carthage. 

Men. Then Dion to the rescue speedily, 
Or Syracuse is ashes! [Shovis vnthotU] 

Gy. Dion! He's here! 

Now Mercy cloister close, and stem Revenge, 
Long patient, take the sword ! 

Men. Ho, who are these? 

[Enter the warrior in combat with PhillistuSy left, rear] 

Gy. The stranger with Phillistus! Here's my blow! 

[Attempts to rise] 


Men. No need! He falls! 
Phil. [Dowvi] Your mercy! 

WarrioT. Take it — death! 

Thou single confine of all men's corruption, 
Die — die — and poison ghosts in hell! 
[Flames issue pom PhiUistus* house. Servants rush otUy 

Phil. [Half rising and looking at the flames] My house 
In flames ! Thanks, gods, for this ! Proud mistress, bum 
Behind your bars, and to your black remains 
Be your Ocrastes welcome! 

Warrior. Aid me, Heaven! 

[Rushes into house] 
Phil. That voice — O traitor! He will save her! Ay 
Hell tread through hell nor bum his feet! 
I die now as they kiss ! Ocrastes — O ! 
The rest 111 tell to gaunt and gibbering shades. 

[Curtain falls and rises upon the same scene in ruinSt 
several haiirs later. Wrecks smoulder in foreground. 
In rear the flames from Achridina throw light on (he 
untouched castle and- island. Noise of battle comes 
from left. Enter from bridge road Dion, Panthus, 
Calipjms, Aristocles, Speusippus, and others] 
Dion. Thanks for my life. 'Twas bravely rescued, 

Cat. My lord, you do us wrong so to expose the arm 
That props our hope. 

Dion, Nay, not with me, Calippus, 

The battle rests, but with the imknown warrior 
Gods lend our fainting cause. Where'er he strikes 
The gashed enemy look on their wounds 
And turn Uke death-met fear to seek a cover. 

Aris. Ay! Once he fell, but rose with such new might 
He seemed like Mars who, tripped on Trojan field. 

nn ■ u It 


[Exeuntj left. The flames from Achridina die dawn. 
Semi-darkness. Men enter and creep about the black- 
ened ruins. Soft light in the East] 

First man. Now Ceres mend our bones! WiD 't e'er be 

Second man. Ay, yonder winks the dawn. 

First man. This blindfold war 

Is Horror past familiar — ^her leper cheek 
Bowsing both cheeks like mistress privil^ed. 

Third man. Gods keep us ! Many a man has died this 
Upon his dear friend's sword. The treacherous torch 
And threatening glare of flames too oft betrayed 
The panic-glazed eye. 

[Domenes rushes on from left. Speusippus foUotoing] 

First man. Domenes? 

Second man. Ay, 

The captain of the tyrant's guards. The Greek 
Is on him! 

Third man. Down ! 

Dom. Spare me! I'll give you news! 

Speu. Live while your tongue wags. Speak! What oi 
the fleet 
From Italy? 

Dom. All lost but one poor sail 
That brings the desperate news. The tyrant mad 
With this is bound for fliight with what is left 
Of Carthage. 

Speu. Ah, Ocrastes dead? 

Dom. Drowned, sir. 

Speu. And Dion's wife? 

Dom. She's in the castle — safe. 

Speu. And flies with Dionysius? Speak, man! 

Dom. She begs to stay, but he may force her oflf. 


Speu. Then we must stop this play and take the castle! 
Drag off! You're past all harm. [Going offy left] Now 
one charge more! [Eooit] 

[Light breaks over Lesser Harbor] 

Voices. Light! light! 

First man. O blessed Zeus! And yet I fear 
The babe-eyed Dawn will sicken with what's here 
And creep back into night. 

Second man. No, day comes on, — 

The red-capped nurse that in her bosom hides 
The cherub Dawn, while her broad smile 
Goes round the world. 

Third man. A smile on this? 

Second man. Ay, ay. 

Her stomach's for all sights, and ulcerous earth 
Shell kiss as close as fountain-laughing vales. 

First man. By Ares' bloody dame, here's work enough 
To keep the gods a year from holiday! 

[ShoiUs vrithout, left. Enter citizens and soldiers in joy^ 
fvl confusion] 

Voices. 'Tis down! The wall is down! The castle's 

A voice. The tyrant has fled by sea! 

Another. And none too soon ! 

Another. He'd pay his head else! 

Cries vrithout. Dion! Dion! Dion! 

[E7vter Dion with friends and citizens] 

Dion. Shout not my name, for 'twas the noble stranger 
Who won this night. Seek him, Calippus, — ^beg 
His presence here with brow imhelmeted. 
That we may look where valor hath her home. 

Cai. He's gone, my lord. 

Dion. Gone? 


Cat. Vanished, as the sea 

Had lapped him up. 

Dion. More like the gods have stooped 

To draw him home again. 

[Looks about at the desolation and groans\ 

Col. Your wound, my lord? 

Dion. No, no. I weep for dying Syracuse. 
Now is her glory like a weary star 
Withdrawn from fortune's heaven. O fairest city, 
Whose beauty drew the feet of farthest kings. 
And set a value in the poorest eye 
To be a storied heritage to sons 

When sires who saw had passed! Even thou hast won 
From cold oblivion but an ashen cloak! 

Aris. 'Tis tyranny lies here, not Syracuse. 
Ay, from these mourned ashes, friend, will spring 
A brighter glory than they bury now, 
And this night's woe bear fruitage of a peace 
When Time shall hang as thick with happy hours 
As Flora's breast with buds. 

S'peu. By Hector's spur. 

It pricks to think this valor-breasted night. 
Bristling with action's pikes toward charging death. 
Should e'er beg life of tolerant memory. 
Thankful for so much breath as may endow 
A musty adage in the mouth of peace. 
Or shepherd song piped by an idle rill 
To meek-eared violets in noonday shade! 
O! O! my lady Fame must have her nap. 
Soft, Mars, put on thy slippers! 

[Enter soldiers dragging Heraclides] 

Dion. Who is this? 

First soldier. My lord, a prisoner. 

Second sol. 'Tis Heraclides, 

My lord. 


Voices. Death! Death to Dion's enemy! 

Dion. What? Heraclides? 

Pan. Ay ! [Drawing his sword] The blow is mine! 

Dion. Put up your sword, brave Panthus. Nay, put up! 

Pan. [Dropping weapon] 'Twere better used, sir. 

Dion. Heraclides, speak. 

What would you say? Do you repent this night? 

Her. All men, my lord, repent the step that brings 
Their cloud-high foreheads to earth. I lie so low 
That Fortune's sun-bent eye will find no more 
My sunken ruin, — ^and but one comfort left, 
I can descend no further. 

Pan. Ay, to hell! 

Her. Ambition knows no hell but failure. Strike! 
You put me out of torture, not send me to it. 

Dion. Life only dreams her hells till death's be found. 

Her. 'Tis easy thus to speak from victory's height 
Whence all looks fair, — so fair misfortune seems 
Sole lie o' the world. We bite truth with the dust. 
My lord. 

Foicc*. His sentence! Death! The traitor! Death! 

Dion. Peace, friends. 

Voices. Death! Seize him! Kill him! 

Cat. Dion speaks! 

Voices. Hear Dion! 

Dion. Not alone in martial venture 

Do victors win their bays. Let each of us. 
Trampling on anger and contending malice 
That from our natures thrust out serpent heads, 
Forgive this captive foe, and crown our brows 
With wreaths of victory outshining all 
That shake from war-decked temples. Hear, my lord. 
By the power I hold in the true hearts and minds 
Of noble Syracusans, I forgive thee. 

Voices. No, no! 


Cai, My lord, be warned. He has a tongue 

Woidd flatter Zeus from heaven, and common minds 
He calls as flies to honey. 

Dion. Nay, his sweet 

Is wormwood now. Because this foolish man 
Has walked in sin, shall I too blemish virtue? 

Voices. Revenge! Revenge! 

Dion. Who offers injuiy, 

And who revenges it, ply the same thread 
Of Nature's scarlet. Heraclides, go. 
Thou'rt free. 

Her. I do not kneel to you — ^a man — 
But to the god that houses in your shape. 
O noble Dion, what deed may speak my thanks 
Too great for tongue? 

Dion. Arise, go forth, and where 
You once betrayed a thousand hearts lead one 
To safety. 

[Exit Heraclides, rabble following] 

Cai. [To Speusippiis] Sir, what think you? 

Speu. 'Tis gross error. 

Hell breathe a life into the stones o' the street 
Ere lack for followers. 

Cai. Come, let us see. 

[Exeunt Caiippus and Speimpjms, others following] 

Dion. [To his Grecian guards] Go nurse your wounds, 
brave friends. I need no more 
Your arms, but ever need your love. You with them, 
Panthus. You know my wishes. 

Pan. Ay, my lord. 

[Exeunt Panihus and guards. Aristocles remains with 

Dion. My friend! [They embrace] No tears! Well 
water joy hereafter. 


Now there is much to do. Wflt seek Calippus for me 
And make him governor of the castle? 
Aris. Ay. [Esnt] 

Dion. [Alone] Now red revolt with opened veins lies low 
Fast paling to her death; and silence deep 
As takes the mother's ear who waits the step 
Of her dead soldier son, creeps o'er the world. 
And to my lonely eye the imiverse 
Shrinks to a monument writ with one grief. 
Ocrastes, couldst, when locked within my love — 
Ay, bedded in the core — ^to vermin turn 
And gnaw the heart thou breathedst in? ... O youth. 
Among life's strangely flowering hopes thou art 
The blossom of deceit! When we have watched 
Thy tender green peer up — ^thy opening buds 
That wrap their silken promise roimd our fears — 
And spent our prayers like nurturing rains upon thee 
That thou mayst bloom above our pride and hang 
The rose or spring upon our frosty age. 
How dost thou droop, till o'er thy cankered wreck 
We dew thy fall with tears! . . . O beauteous bud, 
What deadly aconite cast its foul shade 
Upon thy blowing grace? My son, my son, 
I am no warrior when I think of thee. 
Else would my sword be out. A father's eye 
Is turned upon thy sin, and all the wrong 
Thou didst to me half righted with a tear . . . 
. . . The Sim comes flaming from the sea as though 
Another Syracuse burnt on the waves . . . 
Why stand I here? The castle doors are open. 
And therein waits the fairest face of earth 
To shine for me To shine? O human sun. 
Unlike thy skyey peer, thy light is dimmed 
With what thou'st looked upon. Thy beams have drunk 


Pollution deep that now detested falls 
Upon my soul. 

[Re-enter Aristodes] 

Arts. All's well, my lord. 

Dion. All's well? 

That's strange news for my heart. Wilt go with me? 

Aris. Whither, my lord? 

Dion. Into yon castle. . . . Come. 

[Exeunt. Curtain] 


Scene: A room in the castle. Brentio alone. 

Bren. By Hector, we've had a night of it. I must stop 
now and count my fingers and toes, for I'm sure there's 
some of me missing. First, my gold! [Counts gold] All 
here. But poor mistress Theano that I promised to carry 
through fire and flood for this same sweet gold was burnt 
up last night. Well, my lord Ocrastes is dead too, so 111 
not be called to account. Had it been flood now I might 
have kept my promise, but fire — ^I never could abide a 
singed beard. 

[Enter Tichus] 

Ho, Tichus! These are wars, sir! These are wars! 
Have you killed your man this night? 

Tick, A score, I hope. 

Bren. Well, I've naught to say. Let deeds talk. A 
bragging tongue is Fame's best grave-digger, though it 
wag i' the mouth of Hercules. But I spared some, I'll 
say that. They cried so for mercy, poor fellows! Not a 
man of 'em was ready to die, by his own count. 

Tich. If you wait for that youll die swearing blood is 
green for all you'll even draw of it. When the gods prom- 
ised that no man should die till he was ready old Charon 
sold his boat. 

Bren. There*s a stick-penny for you. What was his 

Tick. A feather bed, that he might sleep oflF idleness. 

Bren. Ah, but you should have seen me when a villain 



pitted at me with three pikes. A murderous three- 
handed deformity, by the truth o' my eyes he was! 

Twh. Then you shook your sword, I warrant! 

Bren. No, bless me, I shook my feet. 

Tich. Man, you didn't run? 

Bren. No, I flew. I wore Mercury's feathers, I tell you. 

Tijch. Shame, Brentio! A coward's 1^ will never over- 
take Fame. 

Bren. Ay, but when a man must leap the grave to catch 
her, let take her who will! I'm done. Have you been 
through the castle? 

Tich. No. 

Bren. Come then. There are sights to be seen. Mostly 
in the ceUars, where every soldier gets a bottle for his song. 


Who will not be merry then let him go drown. 

Let him go drown. 
In as rosy a bumper as ever went down. 

As ever went down. 
And hell bob up, hell bob up, by Bacchus, he will. 
As hail a good fellow as ever wet gill! 

Here are our masters! I'm gone. A hero may drink, 
but work — ^never! [EocU^ 

Tich. There's more trouble ahead than the daw o' my 
wit can scratch. Ocrastes' death makes one less in the 
pother, but I've eyes in my head, and there's no doubt my 
master is in love with the lady Aratea, and one lover can 
make more trouble than a score of extra husbands. Well, 
well, when thy cares bewilder thee take time and wine for 
thy counsellors. So let it work out. [Exit. Arigtodes 
and Dion appear in hall partly visible through vride open 
dooTSy rear. Aristodea enters and comes front. Dion re- 
mains vnthouty gazing dovm^ moody and meditative] 


Aris. Deep, deep, my thoughts, dive to some bed of 

In my wide-r^oned self, nor come again 
Like sea-returned corpse, with livid grin 
And foul, accreted horror, to beg anew 
For burial. 

[Dion comes in and walks slowly across to Aristocles] 
Youll see her now? 

Dion. See whom? 

Aris. Your wife. 

Dion. My wife? Have I a wife? 

Aris. She waits 

Your summons by Diana's altar. 

Dion. Ah! 

So near? 

Aris, Theano waits with her. 

Dion. My niece? 

She's safe? 

Aris. By miracle. The unknown knight 
Bore her from out Phillistus' burning house. 

Dion. Still sweUs our debt to him. 

Aris. Youll see her now? 

Dion. See whom, my friend? 

Aris. Your wife, sir, — ^Aratea. 

Dion. When you repeat the name I half believe 
I have a wife. Your voice was ever true. 
Nor fed me with the rifled husks of speech. 
. . . Was she not fair? 

Aris. My lord? 

Dixm. How fair, think you? 

Aris. Who, sir, could say? Such beauty scorns all 
And writes itself but in the wondering eye. 

Dixm. You shift. You shift. Your tongue is beauty's 


Did heaven lack a goddess you might limn 
A fairer than a Venus for the place. 
Speak on. Tell me her sum to the last doit. 
The balance of a hair — a smile unborn — 
I'd not strike off. 

Aris. [Coldly] You know her worth, my lord. 

Dion. Nay, the appraising eye when fixed too near 
The thing it loves distorts the sweet proportion. 
You can adjust your gaze, take stand to bring 
Her beauty to perfection's single-point. 

Aris. What matter? All is yours. 

Dion. Ah, if 'twere mine 

I'd care not, happy then to know 'twas mine. 
But when we've lost we're moved to question, sir. 
Else are we crippled twice in our estate. 
Once in the loss, again to know it not. 

Aris. Strange speech, my lord. I hardly know your 

Dion. You can not understand, for you've no wife. 
No more have I. But once . . . Yes, yes, 111 see her. 
Wilt bring her here? 

Aris. I bring her? Here? To you? 

Dion. If 'tis too sad a service 

Aris. Nay, I go. [Eont] 

Dion. I am forgot in his great pity of her. 
[Enter Calipjms] 

Col. Lord Dion, Heraclides b^s to see you, 

Dion. Is he alone? 

Col. ^gisthus comes with him. 

Dion. Bid them into the banquet hall. 

Cd. My lord, 

You will not see them? 

Dion. Ay, there's naught to fear. 

Tell them 111 join them soon. 

[Eont Calipjms] 


Now riven heart* 
Close firm as mountain bulwark that beats off 
The Thracian wind. 

[Enter Aristocles with Theano and Araiea] 
Dion. [To Theano] Grood welcome, niece. 

[He embra^ces Theano, and looks silently at Araiea] 
Ara. [Falteringly] My lord- 

Dion. Yoiur friend, your lover — ay, yoiur slave, — 
but not 
Your lord, sweet Aratea. 

Ara. O! Condenmed! 

Dion. Not that — ^but 

Ara. Then you 11 hear me? 

Dion. No! Your voice 

Renews in me the battle that I thought 
Was fought to end. 

Ara. But I could say, my lord 

Dion. Ay, you coidd say what would revoke the sun. 
Turn back into his heart his golden spears. 
And from the sapphire battlements make pour 
Surprised night! How easy then to shake 
The scarce-sworn vow from my unfended breast 
To melt like snowflake caught in lap of June! 

Ara. O, sir 

Dion. You've that in you defeats resolve. 

And casts in broil the mind's high chancery. 
I will not hear a word ! 'Tis my defence, 
Not cruelty. All honor shall be thine 
Apart from me. 

Ara. What honor may be mine 

Apart from thee? 

Dion. Nay, question not my justice! 

Ara. You think me viQe, my lord? 

Dion. Mayhap I do! 

Were there no poisons left in Sicily? 


No rank, night-sweating herbs whose bane might work 
Proud honor's choice? Were daggers grown too blunt 
To pierce fair flesh? What, not a rope — ^nor cord? 
No garters — strips of silken robes 

Aris. O, spare 

To accuse a soul who erred that she might still 
Be true to Heaven. 

Dion. True? By Pallas! True? 

Aris. Sir, she obeyed the gods who bid us wait 
And work on earth our destiny. 

Dion. The gods 

Sometimes write in our fates that to seek death 
Is what will solely please them. 

Aris, Must I see 

The Sim of justice in you set? 

Dion. Ah, friend. 

Do you not see 'tis my desire that cries 
To keep her still? 'Tis passion weighing doubts, 
Hoping to find them light as rising vapors. 

Aris. Though she had struck at life within her heart. 
Swart Atropos had dropped her shears for pity. 
Nor helped so fair a woe to death. Yet you 

Dion. O, she is pure, but not to me! TKs stamped 
Upon my soul that she is dark to me 
Though fair to Heaven! 

The. Hear her, sir. She took 
No vows. Her lips were dumb 

Dion. O, vows! You speak 

Of words? 

The. But 

Dion. Silence, niece! 

Aris. Receive her, sir. 

Dion. Never, my friend! What can you know of this? 

Aris. I know she is Pandora without taint! 
The secret pattern lost in mourning heaven 


When rapt Hephaistos shaped the perfect clay 
By Pallas' breath made vital! Sir, receive her! 
Let me implore it by our years of love. 

Dion. Thou 'rt dear to me as man may be to man, 
But wert thou dear as god may be to god, 
I could not grant thy wish. 

Aris. Then she is mine! 

And, could I snatch a tear from Dian's cheek 
When bowed at secret altar she renews 
Her vestal sanctity, 'twould not be less 
Unspotted to my love! O, Aratea, 
Wilt come? My wife? Say not thou lov'st, but ding 
Unto my breast as trusting bud to bough. 
Or but uplook with eyes whose shaken sea 
Is calmed in mine. 

Dion, Ye powers that rule my being. 

Stop every conscious note but wonder! 

Aris, Ah, 

I've heard it said Apollo loved my mother. 
And I coidd wish it true, that god-descended 
I might embrace thyself, who surely art 
Of high Olympus bom — whose mortal part 
Wears beauty as the night h^r stars. 

Dion, Behold 

Me desolate, ye gods! Is this my friend? 
Nay, thou hast given friendship such a blow 
She dies from earth, nor in eternal groves 
May she be healed. 

Aris, Not mine, but yours, the blow. 

Dion, Ocrastes struck me, and I rose again. 
My wife was taken, and I lived to sigh. 
But you — O, now the quick of life is seized 
With mortal ill. Now shakes my earth to centre. 
And on me falling bow her peaked tops. 
Even here and now I die. All fellowship 


Forego with gallant breath, and lay me down 
Like forest trunk that pours its wasting heart 
From eveiy lopped limb. 

[Theano aUempis to comfort him] 
Go from me, girl. 
, My wounded senses shrink away from life 
Till gentlest touches are as brands of pain. 
Dumb be my lips. Ill speak no more on earth. 

Ara. Keep you that word! Thy silence is my speech! 
Know, Dion, though the knowing now is naught, 
Ocrastes left me ere his marriage vow 
Was cold in air, nor took one bridal kiss. 
Nor have these eyes beheld him since that hour. 
Nor will the eye of mortal see him more. 
The sea now holds him to her buried heart. 
Some shelly couch washed with a Nereid's tears 
Is his last bed. 

Dion. And you untouched . . . untouched. 

Ara. I grieve you did not know me better, sir. 
You too, my lord Aristocles. Those cords — 
Those daggers — poisons — ^had been quickly found 

Dion. Untouched! No bridal kiss ! My blindness goes. 
But Heaven, in pity, shut me dark again. 
For I have wronged Ocrastes — ^who is dead. 
How could your woman heart not know the truth — 
That he thus saved you from a baser touch 
To be restored all perfect, pure to me? 
And he is dead. Give me your pity, gods! 
Now we will mourn, Theano. Here, my daughter. 
Our griefs let marry in our kissing tears. 

[Embraces Theano] 
But there's a brightness yet in this dark woe. 

[Advances to Aratea] 
Once more, my love, my wife, you are all mine. 


[AridocUs steps before Aratea] 
What mean you now? 

Aris. To guard my own. For you 

The pearl of opportunity is lost. 
Briareus' hands could not now snatch it back 
Where *t pales on time's retreating wave. 

Dion. By Mars, 

111 pass you, sir! 

The. Let Aratea speak. 

Is 't not for her to choose? 

Dion. A wedded woman 

Can have no choice. 

The. O, Dion, be a god. 

Not man, and grant it. 

Aris. Choose thine own. As free 

As new created star, fix where thou wilt. 

Dion. Ay, choose ! Thou art my wife. Thy holy truth 
Will fail thee not. Speak! End this bitter folly 
From which the gods would turn shame-burning face! 

The. Not if all tale be true. 

Dion. You speak too much! 

Ara. First swear, my lords, however I may choose, 
Youll still be friends, as honored and as true 
As though this face I loathe had never come 
Between your loves. 

Aris. I swear to you my friend 

Shall be my friend. 

Ara. You, sir? 

Dion. I will foi^ve him, 

For love has made him mad. 

Ara. Swear it by Heaven. 

Dion. By Heaven. Now wilt speak? 

Ara. Such sacred oaths 

Need sacrificial rite, and here I give 
My blood. 


[Suddenly draws a dagger and attempts to stab herself. 
Aristocles, watching eagerly , seizes dodgery and sup- 
porting her speaks vnldiy] 

Aris. Think not that you can fly me now! 
Though thou wert dead still wouldst thou live for me 
In such dear semblance of remembered show 
That I would seek to woo thy houseless spirit 
E'er give thee o'er unclasped to Heaven! 

Ara. Ah! [Releases herself] 

Dion. But now she lives, and living she is mine. 

Aris. Her lips, not yours, shall say! 

Dion. Lost man, thou 'rt crazed. 

I pity thee. Speak, wife. 

Ara. O, blow me, winds. 

To some unpeopled sphere, and find me peace 
As sweet as his who cropped the first day fruits 
Of green unharrowed earth! 

Dion. This is no answer. 

Ara. My lord, if 't be my prayers can save my soul, 
In some far fane 111 serve the priestess' cup 
Till Death is kind and calls me. 

Dion. [Seizing her arm] Answer me! 
Art mine, or his? 

Ara. Till truth no more is truth 

Thou art my lord. 

[Aristocles turns and moves apart, covering his face with 
his manUe. Aratea sinks feebly and Theano supports 

Dion. [To Aristocles] Now you've your answer! Niece, 
Lead out my wife. 

[Theano takes Aratea from the room, through curtained 
entranccy left] 

Aristocles — ^my friend — 
I pity and forgive thee. When Love drives, 
His chariot reins are veins of mortal men. 


Who fain must course the bright god's destiny 

Nor reck the road. 'Tis strange — ^not that you loved her — 

But that I did not dream it must be so, 

She being the top and bloom of all her sex, 

As you, my lord, of yours. A mortal judge 

Would grant you her, but God gave her to me. 

And I doubt not He blundered to a purpose 

Beyond our dream. Ah me, the night's red eyes 

Looked fatal on the sail that bore you hither. 

Cursed be my prayers that drew you from your Athens ! 

Farewell! For you must go. Small Sicily 

No more may hold us both. 

[Re-erUer Theano] 
The. She's better, sir. 

Dim. That's well. 

[Enter CcUippiiSy through haU^ rear] 
Your news? 
Cat. Our saviour of the night 

Now waits to see you. 
Dion. The warrior? Ask him in! 

[Exit Caiippus] 
The. Ill speak the thanks he waited not to hear. 
Although my heart gives none for this poor life. 

[Enter warrior y rear^ still in arms and helmeted] 
Dion. Thou'rt welcome as the gods. As lightning 

The world now bright, now dark, you fill and void 
The circle of our sense, but, here or there, 
'Tis ours to grant you what you will if power 
Be in us. 
Warrior. [Kneeling] For one thing I sue — ^forgiveness. 

[Removes helmet] 
Dion. Ocrastes! 
Oc. Ay. 


Dion. How couldst be hid from me 

Though veiled in seven-fold steel? 

The. Not dead — not dead 

Oc. [Embracing Theano] My heart, look up. The long 
tale of my sins 
Will be as virtue's song when in love's ear 
'Tis whispered. Nay, weep not. Those woes are sealed. 

The. O, canst forgive me? 

Oc. It is I must sue. 

Nay, nay, my sweet, no liquid gem drop now 
On misery's broken altar, too long rich 
Yfiih these eyes' jewels. 

The. Ah, thou'rt mine . . . still mine. 

Oc. Ere I have done your constancy shall hear 
Such music of true love you'll think those birds 
That move the gentle concords of the night 
In these bright locks make bower continual. 

[Kisses her hair] 
For every hour of your ungracious star. 
With the full circuit of a smih'ng moon 
I'll pension you, till covetous of time 
You'll wish your sorrows had been more, not less. 

Dion. Not one embrace for me? 

Oc. Before I make 

My plea for pardon? 

Dion. That may wait, my son. 

For empty hours. This is too full of joy. 

Oc. I did not go to Italy, my lord. 
But to the Leontines 

Dion. O, go not back 

To read the bloodprints of bewildered feet. 
Now as the soft life-wooing breath that moves 
So swift upon the track of orient storms 
That ere the woeful people dry their tears 
Earth is new-dad in garments of the sun 


And balm is in the air like blessings winged, 
Fanning delight in every lifted cheek. 
So treads this hour at heel of flying woe. 
[Enter Brenlio, rear] 

Bren. My lord, the people in the banquet hall are 
drinking all the cellars diy. You'd weep to see it, sir. 
[Sees Theano and Ocrcuies. Looks in bevnlderment from 
one to the other ^ daps hand to his purse and runs out] 

Dion. The slave's beset. 

Oc. He's drunk, my lord. 

Dion. I had foigot Heraclides. [Ooing] Ocrastes, 
come. We'll not so soon be parted. You to my wife, 
Theano. [Exeunt Dion and Ocrastes^ rear; Theano 
through curtainsy left] 

Aris. [Alone] Dion, how oft hast sworn I was thy dearest, 
Yet go to happiness while I droop here 
As to my grave. Nor dost thou need me more 
Than quickest life its century-buried dead. 
Yet one is yon, behind those curtains close. 
Who starves even as you feed. Her love is mine. 
By Heaven, I know 'tis mine! Yet I must go — 
Leave her to perish. Ay, her flower soul 
Not long will bear the weight of unloved love. 

[Soldiers enter holly rear^ drinking and singing] 

O, Helen had a rosy lip. 

And only one might kiss it. 
But all of mistress wine may sip 

And she will never miss it. 

Ho, brothers all are we. 

Brothers all are we! 
We've sworn to the last red drop. 
Be it found in a heart or found in a cup. 

And brothers all we be! 


A soldier's trade it is to die, 

And what poor fools are they 
Who for a soldier's death will sigh — 

Tis all in a business way. 

Ho, brothers all are we, &e. 

[Exeunt drunkenly] 

Aris. O, I am wounded in the character 
I sought to build so giant-like that as 
A figure on the skies all men would see 
And longing upward scorn their baser state! 
Now am I grown deformed with a scar 
That all eternity can not make fair. 
. . . To go . . . nor say farewell. To go ... to go. 
And see no more her face . . . that face which is 
Imagination sighing in a word. 
That face where Beauty with her mysteries 
Sits listening to Magi of the air. 
Or ocean lapping on eternal sands. 
*Tis as a star should to a flower turn. 
And yet remember heaven. 

[Approaches curtains and kneels] 
Fare thee well! 
O thou whose body is a living urn 
Full of distilled sweets from every mead 
Where Love hath set a flower! Whose soul compacts 
All earth's divinity, and leaves profane 
All space where it is not! 

[Arises and starts out slowly. At the door he looks 
back. Aratea appears at curtains^ but does not see him] 
O, I must fly . . . 
Must fly . . . nor hear again her voice that lures 
As it would draw the fallen golden world 
O'er desert ages to man's memory. 


Ara. \Sees him and advances] You here, Aristodes? 

Aris. Wilt say farewell? 

Ara. [Ooing back] Farewell. 

Aris. No word but that? 

Ara. That is too much. 

Aris. [Approaching] Too much? 

Ara, I — ^faint again. Nay, touch me not! 

Aris. Am I so perilous to thee? My hand 
Has had no commerce yet with cruelty. 

Ara. The moon with silver foot steps not more soft 
Among the tears of night than falls thy touch 
On me, who, poorer than the night, must go 
Uncomforted. Thoult leave this place at once 
If thou hast pity. 

Aris. Ah, had I a heart 

Great-swelling as the sad Molurian mount. 
Or piled peaks that wreck the sailing moon, 
'Twere not enough to melt upon this woe! 

Ara. Wretched, O wretched me! To be the curse 
Of what is best on earth! 

Aris. Peace, unjust lips! 

Thou art a rose that, rooted in Elysium, 
Leans sorrowing to the world that it may see 
What beauty is and know then how to dream. 
O, close those other worlds, your eyes, that I 
May live in this! [She moves ba^k] 
Stay, I must speak ! 

Ara. No, no! 

Aris. And you must hear me. 

Ara. Silence, air, is best. 

In her deep bosom let our woes be buried. 
As Night doth shepherd all the cares of day 
Till Heaven think the world asleep, though 'neath 
The dark are hot and staring eyes. 

Aris. Nay, nay. 


Put courage in thy heart to gender wings 
That we may dart as swallows to the sun 
And tread the rosy air where love may breathe! 

Ara. My lord— — 

Aris. Come! come! Greece is our home of light. 

There you, my wife, shaU rule a lesser heaven 
And tutor souls for God's. [She turns to g6\ 

One moment hear me! 
You love me, Aratea. 

Ara. Fare you well. 

Aris. [Agcdfut the curiain8\ First say thou lovest me! 
Dost thou not hear 
A voice at night when calm Eirene leads 
Sleep to all eyes but thine? 

Ara. Have mercy, sir! 

Aria. What leap of soul or dream of sense hast thou 
That is not sweeter for you hold me dear? 
When Theia's daughter, priestess gray, unhoods 
Her morning face, and all her clouds of rose 
With flying petals light the waking world. 
Does not your ecstasy swim on the flood 
Of my remembered eyes, and their delight 
Re-jewel beauty's diadem? 

Ara. I b^ 

Aris. When throbbing wonders of a dying sun 
Trail off their glories like escaping souls. 
And Night with lustred heaven round her neck 
Lures up immensities, whose spirit longs 
Through all your longings till it leads your own 
To crowned and still content? 

Ara. Will you not go? 

Aris, And when thy gaze is on the sibyl sea. 
Striving to read her ancient wave-writ script, 
And break the seal a differing language sets 


Upon her mighty tongue, whence cometh peace 
like full and silent answer to your heart? 

Ara. If this be love, then let it be mine still. 
For it may be without a touch of hands. 
Ay, though in Athens you must live and move 
Still are you mine in mysteries and joys. 
I thank you, sir, for having taught me love 
That is forever holy, wronging none. 

Aris. Nay, Aratea, man can not be God 
And pipe all Heaven through a mortal reed I 
Come to my arms, O life and soul of me! 
As chaste verbenas on an altar kiss. 
As streamlets join in soft approving shade. 
As clouds immingle in the glancing sun. 
So shall our loves unchided of the skies. 
Not leafy choirs that anthem Flora in. 
Or those sweet songs that in day's virgin hour 
Thdr hymeneal pour from feathery pipes 
That stale Apollo's lute, shall win more smiles 
From the consenting gods! 

Ara. O, music, breath 

Of sin! 

Aris. Not so! To love thee not were sin! 
The adoration of so fair a soul 
Would save me were I damned! And thou art mine. 
By stars that knit their motions with our fates. 
The season-childing sun, great Heaven itself 

Ara. O, not by Heaven! 

Aris. And Heaven's all-greater Lord, 

Who gives us souls that we may love all beauty, 
And gives us beauty that our souls may love it, 
I swear thee mine! 

Ara. Your oath — ^your oath to Dion! 

Aris. Thou 'rt mine above all vows! Thou canst not let 


A mock-enthroned custom speak to God? 
An atom fettered with nice consequence 
Bar up the gates of love that are as wide 
As His earth-belting arms? 

Ara. No pity, none. 

Aris. My heart, say thou wilt come. 

Ara. 'Tis death. 

Aris. 'Tis life! 

Come now, O now, else are we cast apart 
Far as the dismal Night heaves her vast sigh. 
Far as the laboring Chaos breathing blows, — 
Perchance to hurl eternally about 
The farthest stars that from opposed heavens 
Dart fiery scouts that die ere they have met. 
So long their journey is. Or, gloomier fate. 
Condemned sit like stones that once could weep 
Forever in the cave of ended things 
That deep in some immortal Lemnos Ues 
Nor ever opens its dank gates to day! 
O, come ere we are lost! Be thy fair arms 
The rainbow girdle to this longing storm 
And its rude breast will pillow thee as soft 
As Leda when, cool-rocked on lily couch. 
The great down-bosomed god swam to her love! 
Come, Aratea, heart of life! O now 
This pulse speaks back to mine — ^this bosom throbs 
Like heaven's Artemis unto her own! 

[Kisses her] 
O kiss that holds the mornings of all time. 
And dewy seasons of the imgathered rose. 
Plant once again thy sununer on my lips! 

Ara. How dear is death that kisses with such breath! 
Thine eyes are seas where sighing ardors blow 
Love's argosies from island bowers of dream 
Into my heart. Save me, Aristocles! 


O me, I'm netted in these golden curls 
With web as sure as that the crafty god 
Once wove round Aphrodite's blushing bed 
And trapped great Ares, sport for gazing heaven! 
O, I am lost! [Casts him off] 

Away! away! Nor may 
My lips move more on earth but in a prayer 
To cleanse this moment's madness from our souls! 

Aris. Wouldst leave me now to death? 

Ara. Ay, unto death, 

Lest Truth and Honor die! Thy way's not mine. 
My aspen soul would shake its house of fear. 
Imagine thunder in the bee's soft hum. 
And mountain-rocking winds in harmless air 
That would not move the purple down of clouds. 
To so great compass now my horror grows 
That I myself seem Chaos. 'Tis as I stood 
'Mong heaps of ruined destinies with life 
Still mourning in them. I am still for fear 
Another world will crumble as I stir. 

Aris. Move, Aratea! Speak! 

Ara. Dost hear that sound? 

It is the rustle of tear-dropping gods 
Who gather all the golden virtues up 
Vouchsafed to earth and trampled low by man. 
See how they rise with their immortal store, 
A moving radiance like the march of light. 
And leave us dark for want of what they bear? 
Far, far till stars must upward look to see — 
A sapphire trail through the ethereal rose! 
Now — earth and darkness — and you call it love! 

[Sinks down] 

Aris, [Lifting her] Fair soul, be mortal yet! 

Ara. [Going from him] Who leaps for stars 

Must fall a million leagues too short, or else 


Take vantage not of earth. [Goes to curtains] 

Farewell^till death. 

Arts. *Twill not be long to wait. Thou canst not live 
In Dion*s arms. 

Ara. Nor thine. As well to hope 

The air-winged seed will root in vacancy, 
And high mid-nothing hang with lobed bloom. 
As that the rose of love will flower from 
The wreck of men and gods. 

[He kneels and kisses her robe. She goes out] 

Aris. Before I die 

I've touched divinity. 

[As he rises a slave rushes in, rear^ and kneels] 

Slave. My lord! 

Aris. You serve 

Lord Heraclides, do you not? 

Slave. I do. 

And know his heart — his traitor heart. 

Aris. Speak, man. 

Slave. You love the noble Dion? 

Aris. [Starts] Dion? Ay, 

I love him well. 

Slave. Sir, Heraclides comes 

To slay him. Dion, the good! But you will save him ! 
^gisthus and Callorus aid my master. 
They're bringing Dion here. 

Aris. Here? Haste! Bring you 

Ocrastes and Calippus! Freedom! Go! 

[Slave runs out. Aristodes steps back unseen a>s Dion, 
Heraclides, Mgisthus and Callorus enter. The slave 
running out meets them] 

Her. What do you, sirrah? 

[The slave runs by without answer] 

Go ! YouTl not outrun 
The hangman! 


\Mgisthu8 and CaUorus keep in rear of Heradides, 
who walks with Dion\ 

Mg. [To CaUarus] We're betrayed. 

CaUo. [To Heradides] Do not delay 
The blow. 

Her. [To Dion] You like our plan, my lord? 

^g. [To Heradides] Strike now. 

Dion. Tis balm to Syracuse. Your hand upon it, 
And pardon me my left. 

Her. With all my heart ! 

[Stabs at Diony whose sword arm is still in bandage. Aris- 
todesy watching, springs out and knocks the weapon 
aside. Heradides engages with him. CaUorus rushes 
at Dion, who has loosened his right amiy and his joe, 
meeting unexpected defence, is slain. As CaUorus faUs, 
Mgisihvs strikes at Dion and disarms him, sending his 
weapon against the curtains^ left. Dion, unarmed and 
suffering^ falls back. Aristodes presses before Dion, 
fighting desperately with Heradides and Mgisthus. 
Aratea appears at curtains] 

Ara. [TaJdng up Dion's weapon] O heart of Mars, 
beat here! 

[She advances suddeniy and draws upon Mgisthus, who 
falls back in momentary astonishment, and Aristodes, 
relieved, slays Heradides. Ocrastes and Calippus rush 
in rear, foUowed by guards and slaves. Theano and 
women, enter left. Mgisthus kneels and surrenders his 
sword to Aratea] 

Cal. No mercy now! 

[To gjiards] To prison with ^Egisthus! 

[Gv^irds lead off Mgisthus] 

Oc. Dion! Safe? 

Dion. [Rising] My wife — ^and friend — can tell you. 
Ask of them. 

Oc. [Picking up bandage] My lord, your scarf. 


Dimt, Let 't be, my son. Let 't be, 

I shall not need it any more. 

Oc. O joy, 

My lord! 

Cal. And joy for Heraclides' death! 

Arid. Poor man! His flattery so soon found friends 
That he himself was caught by it, and thought 
To gain a crown by Dion's death. E'en while 
They talked — O ne'er was friendly speech so punctured — 
His sword was out and aimed at Dion's bosom. 

Oc. Your blade is purple, but it should be black. 
So vile his blood! {Dion s^nks to a seat'\ 

Cal. My lord! 

Oc. Your wound! He bleeds! 

O see! This stream is gushing as 'twould fill 
An ocean. Help! A surgeon! 

Dion. Nay, too late. 

Olympus* power alone is potent here. 
There's not enough of life in me to wish 
For life. 

Ara. O, Dion! 

Dion. Kneel here, my wife. 

[Aratea kneels at Dion's side] 

And you, 
Aristocles, come close to me. 

[Aristocles kneels on the other side of Dion] 
Two faces 
Where more of heaven is writ than I have seen 
In all the world beside. Ay, ye will pair 
Like twin divinities, and haply by 
The sweet conjunction of your beauteous stais 
Make a new influence in the skies may draw 
The world to heaven. 

. . . Ocrastes, son, on you 
Now falls the heavy weight of government. 


. • . FareweQ, all hearts. Mj way is new and long. 
And strange may be the fortunes of mj shade. 
But somewhere I shaU lay me down in peace. 
For death's unmeasured sea must own a strand. 
And e'ea eternity beat to a shore. 

{Dies. Curtain]